REESE    LIBRARY 

OP  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Received  __.  L//t£Zd  t^Si-'    i8&C) 

/ 


Accessions  No.^V  /  f  -*.      Shelf  No. 


DATS 


OUT    OF    DOOES 


BY 


CHARLES  0.   ABBOTT 

AUTHOR  OP  "A  NATURALIST'S  RAMBLES  ABOUT  HOME" 


NEW  YORK 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1889 


COPYRIGHT,  1889, 
BT  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


PREFACE. 


I  AM  free  to  confess  that,  were  our  animals  as  stupid 
and  machine-like  as  many  observers  represent  them  and 
as  certain  would-be  critics  assume  them  to  be,  I  should 
not  feel  tempted  to  spend  my  days  in  a  series  of  more 
or  less  protracted  outings  continuing  through  the  year, 
nor  look  upon  experiment  as  one  whit  better  than  a 
pleasing  pastime.  But  the  beasts  and  birds,  reptiles, 
fishes,  and  "  such  small  deer  "  are  nothing  of  the  kind, 
and  their  intelligence  still  not  only  offers  a  wide  field 
for  study,  but  adds  a  zest  to  every  contemplative  stroll. 

Strictly  inanimate  nature  is,  for  me,  far  less  exhila- 
rating. "  Antres  vast  and  deserts  idle  "  figure  better  in 
poetry  than  in  fact,  and  the  lifeless  wastes  of  the  world 
offer  little  that  has  roused  my  enthusiasm  so  promptly 
as  some  familiar  field  with  its  scattered  sparrows,  and 
perchance  a  bluebird  on  the  rude  worm  fence ;  and  as 
yet  I  have  no  fear  that  at  last  there  will  be  no  novelty 
and  my  well-tramped  fields  will  pall. 

"To-morrow  they  will  wear  another  face." 


4:  PREFACE. 

Not  only  the 

"ragged  cliff 
Has  thousand  faces  in  a  thousand  hours," 

but  this  I  find  true  of  the  tamest  pasture,  where  not 
even  the  clover  and  buttercups  of  one  side  are  the  twins 
of  the  buttercups  and  clover  of  the  other;  and  think 
of  the  bees,  birds,  beetles,  and  butterflies  that .  come 
and  go!  These,  I  know,  are  not  the  same,  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  forever. 

Whether  it  be  the  crested  tit  defying  the  chilliest 
blast  of  January;  violets  mantling  the  meadow  banks 
in  April ;  thrushes  singing  their  farewell  summer  songs, 
or  dull  and  dreary  dim  December  days  it  matters  not — 
they  never  repeat  themselves,  or  else  I  am  daily  a  new 
creature.  Nor  sight  nor  sound  but  has  the  freshness 
of  novelty,  and  one  rambler,  at  least,  in  his  maturer 
years  is  still  a  boy  at  heart. 

If  one  could  take  an  airy,  bird's-eye  view  of  this 
level  country,  he  would  see,  more  prominently  than 
all  other  features,  save  one,  a  sinuous,  leafy  serpent, 
miles  in  length,  with  gaping  jaws  upon  the  shore  of  the 
river,  and  a  delicate,  thread-like  tail,  afar  in  the  out- 
stretched fields.  It  is  the  valley  of  a  near-by  creek. 

One  has  nowhere  more  than  a  few  rods  to  walk 
back  from  the  stream  to  find  either  fields,  gardens,  or 
the  public  road ;  but  such  a  walk !  It  is  a  wilderness 
that  woos  the  birds ;  it  is  a  wild  wood  that  protects  the 
beast ;  it  is  the  haunt  of  many  a  creeping  thing,  squat 
toad,  sleek  frog,  and  slippery  salamander.  Much  as  has 


PREFACE.  5 

been  written  of  it,  far  more  remains  well  worthy  of 
recording.  Or,  looking  northward,  one  traces  from  the 
distant  mountains  trending  toward  the  sea  the  more 
pretentious  valley  of  the  river.  Here  I  have  found  a 
new  country,  teeming  with  delights.  Its  wreck-strewed 
shores,  its  sandy  beaches  which  the  tide  lays  bare,  its 
wild  and  wasting  islands  and  open  reaches  of  wind- 
troubled  waters,  have  alike  held  me  as  the  days  rolled 
by.  And  so  it  happens  that,  after  many  a  ramble  in 
far-off  regions,  where  rocks,  lakes,  rivers,  and  boundless 
pine  barrens  offered  endless  novelty,  it  was  ever  a  pleas- 
ure to  return  to  the  unpretending  creek  and  modest 
river,  and  spend  my  days  with  "  old  familiar  faces." 
Perhaps, 

"  Because  I  was  content  with  these  poor  fields, 
Low,  open  meads,  slender  and  sluggish  streams, 
And  found  a  home  in  haunts  which  others  scorned, 
The  partial  wood-gods  overpaid  my  love 
And  granted  me  the  freedom  of  their  state " ; 

the  world  seemed  more  full  of  meaning  here.  There- 
fore I  hold  that  one  need  not  mope  because  he  has  to 
stay  at  home.  Trees  grow  here  as  suggestively  as  in 
California ;  and  the  water  of  our  river  is  very  wet.  Re- 
member, too,  if  trees  are  not  tall  enough  to  suit  your 
whim,  to  lie  down  beneath  the  branches  of  any  one  of 
them,  and,  as  you  look  up,  the  topmost  twig  pierces  the 
sky.  There  is  not  an  oak  but  will  become  a  giant 
sequoia  in  this  way. 

One  need  learn   no   magic   to   bring  the   antipodes 
home  to  him. 


6  PREFACE. 

For  permission  to  reprint  portions  of  several  of  the 
following  chapters  the  author  is  indebted  to  the  pub- 
lishers of  "  Harper's  Young  People,"  of  the  "  Popular 
Science  Monthly,"  of  "Garden  and  Forest,"  and  of 
"  The  American,"  of  Philadelphia. 

C.  C.  A. 

PROSPECT  HILL,  TRENTON,  N.  J., 
March  SO,  18S9. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — JANUARY  .     .     .     .     .     .     .9 

II.— FEBRUARY   .          34 

III.— MARCH 49 

IV.— APRIL 74 

V.— MAY      . 102 

VI.— JUNE  .     .     .     .          .     -140 

VII.— JULY  ....               .167 

VIII.— AUGUST .189 

IX.— SEPTEMBER  .     .     .     .     .          .213 

X.— OCTOBER .242 

XL— NOVEMBER .260 

XII.— DECEMBER  ......  291 


DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JANUARY. 

BECAUSE  our  Indians  happened  to  call  January  Anixi 
gisclmch,  or  the  Squirrel  Moon,  I  do  not  expect  to  find 
these  animals  at  all  abundant,  even  if  it  is  mild  at  New 
Year's,  or  later  when  we  have  the  thaw  said  to  be  charac- 
teristic of  the  month.  Why  the  Indians  associated  the 
month  with  squirrels  can  not  be  determined,  but,  as  this 
people's  language  far  antedates  their  coming  to  the  Dela- 
ware Valley,  it  had  to  do,  doubtless,  with  the  squirrels  of 
some  other  region.  Certainly,  those  of  the  home  hill-side 
have  no  predilection  for  the  middle  of  winter,  and  if  it  be 
very  cold  are  as  soundly  asleep  as  any  typically  hibernating 
mammal.  They  appear  to  sleep  for  much  more  protracted 
periods  than  do  the  flying  squirrels.  And  now  a  word 
about  an  indoor  outing  when  flying  squirrels  figured 
prominently.  As  the  weather  was  intolerably  bad,  I  com- 
promised matters  by  spending  a  half-day  in  the  garret ; 
and  this,  by  the  way,  is  a  part  of  every  country  house  that, 
even  if  but  a  century  old,  is  a  hunting-ground  not  to  be 
despised.  Particularly  is  it  true  when  the  house  has  re- 
mained from  generation  to  generation  in  the  same  family. 
But  it  is  only  with  reference  to  a  single  zoological  aspect 
that  I  refer  to  the  garret  at  home,  although  its  fauna  is 


10  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

quite  extensive.  Certainly  the  environment  is  favorable 
for  the  non-social  wasps,  and,  judged  by  their  effective 
work,  their  stings  are  developed  out  of  all  proportion  to 
their  bodies,  and  triply  envenomed. 

But  that  January  day.  It  neither  rained  nor  snowed, 
but  both.  There  was  no  steady  wind  from  some  one  point, 
but  stinging  blasts  that  came  from  every  quarter.  It  was 
neither  warm  nor  cold,  but  chilling  to  a  degree  that  made 
all  wraps  unavailable.  I  stayed  at  home. 

It  had  been  whispered  about  that  strange  noises  were 
sometimes  heard  in  the  attic,  and  I  proposed  now  to  in- 
vestigate the  matter.  Somewhere  between  the  roof  and 
the  ceiling,  in  a  long  and  narrow,  densely  darkened  space, 
the  flying  squirrels  that  have  made  my  house  their  home 
for  many  years  were  now  cozily  quartered.  Of  this  I  was 
sure.  They  could  not,  it  seemed  to  me,  have  suspended  a 
nest  from  the  rafters ;  so  their  only  alternative  of  resting 
upon  the  plastering  made  it  easy  for  me  to  locate  them. 
With  a  little  hammer,  I  tapped  upon  every  square  inch  of 
that  ceiling,  and  then  listened  for  some  response.  If  I 
thought  I  heard  such,  I  tapped  still  harder,  and  so  con- 
tinued, going  over  the  same  ground  many  times,  until  at 
last  I  found  the  spot.  Here  every  blow  of  the  hammer 
elicited  a  growl-like  squeak,  and  I  knew  that  the  squirrels 
were  not  only  there,  but  awake. 

Having  advanced  thus  far  in  my  explorations,  I  rested 
from  my  labors.  No,  I  merely  endeavored  to  do  so.  It 
happened  that  my  incessant  but,  as  I  thought,  gentle  ham- 
mering excited  considerable  curiosity,  if  not  fear,  in  the 
mind  of  an  interested  party  on  the  lower  floor,  and,  as  I 
was  about  to  descend  thereto  to  announce  my  unqualified 
success,  I  heard  approaching  footsteps,  which,  without 
knowing  why,  I  desired  to  avoid,  but  was  hemmed  in,  and 
could  but  wait  and  wonder.  The  expression  of  my  un- 
welcome visitor,  as  she  gazed  at  what  I  too  now  saw  was  a 


JANUARY.  11 

damaged  ceiling,  was  very  dramatic.  "While  at  work  I  was 
not  aware  that  I  had  broken  any  plaster,  but  I  know  it 
now,  and  have  learned  never  to  mention  a  syllable  about 
sacrifices  in  the  cause  of  science.  Oh !  the  unutterable 
scorn  when  last  I  did  so  ! 

After  the  skies  had  cleared  and  I  dared  return  to  the 
garret,  I  failed,  to  my  intense  disgust,  to  remember  the 
precise  spot  over  which  the  squirrels  were  found  to  be 
resting.  The  unfortunate  hammer-marks  were  in  bewil- 
dering proximity,  and  I  dared  not  repeat  percussion  as  a 
means  of  locating  the  animals.  While  wondering  what  to 
do  next,  I  was  startled  by  a  strange,  half -musical  hum- 
ming, as  of  an  ^Eolian  harp  that  was  muffled.  There  was 
no  distinct  utterance,  but  so  rapid  a  succession  of  quick 
cries  that  to  distinguish  any  one  was  impossible.  The 
volume  of  sound  increased  perceptibly,  and  then  very 
slowly  died  away.  The  moment  it  ceased  another  squirrel 
took  it  up,  and  so  what  I  believe  to  have  been  a  half-dozen 
squirrels  sang  in  rapid  succession. 

Listening  under  such  disadvantageous  circumstances,  I 
can  not  well  be  sure  of  anything  I  heard,  but  I  feel  con- 
vinced that  in  this  particular  of  different  individuals  tak- 
ing up  and  repeating  the  song  I  am  right.  Indeed,  it  is 
hard  to  believe  that  the  same  squirrel  could  have  repeated 
these  prolonged  sounds  six  times  in  such  quick  succession. 

On  attempting,  later,  to  dislodge  these  squirrels,  I 
found  them  on  the  alert,  and  no  sooner  was  their  nest 
overturned  than  away  they  scampered  in  all  directions. 
The  nest  was  a  mass  of  paper  and  rags,  the  former  torn 
or  nibbled  into  bits  about  the  size  of  beech-leaves.  Near 
by  were  the  empty  shells  of  a  few  hickory-nuts,  gathered, 
not  from  the  meadows,  bat  from  the  little  store  which,  in 
October,  had  been  spread  upon  the  garret  floor. 

The  squirrels  were  evidently  not  seriously  incommoded 
by  their  unceremonious  eviction,  as  in  a  short  time  after  I 


12  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

retired  they  returned  and  reconstructed  their  nest  in  the 
same  spot.  From  underneath  I  could  hear  the  patter  of 
their  busy  feet  and  the  rustling  of  the  scattered  papers, 
but  not  a  squeak  or  sound  of  any  kind ;  and  from  that 
day  until  late  in  April  they  continued  to  sleep  and  sing — 
active  and  noisy  when  the  nights  were  warm,  and  still  as 
death  during  the  winter,  whenever  the  mercury  sank  low. 
But  their  noise  at  night  was  not  a  vocal  one,  the  singing 
I  have  mentioned  being  wholly  a  diurnal  phenomenon. 
During  the  day,  when  the  squirrels  were  evidently  not 
moving  about,  they  appeared  to  rouse  from  their  slumbers 
and  sing,  one  after  the  other,  and  then  relapse  into 
silence. 

But  enough  of  indoor  outings,  even  in  January. 
While  it  is  not  so  suggestive  a  month  as  most  of  the 
others,  it  is  not  without  certain  features  that  are  ever  wel- 
come to  the  rambler ;  and  one  feels  more  content  with 
extremely  cold  weather  at  this  time  than  if  it  comes  ear- 
lier or  later.  The  fact  is,  the  season  is  but  ten  days  old 
at  New  Year's,  and  speculation  is  curiously  active  as  to  the 
weather  that  is  to  be.  No  two  of  my  neighbors  agree, 
each  "  goin'  by  a  sure  sign,"  and,  of  course,  a  different 
one.  All  prove  wrong,  yet  each  swears  the  next  spring, 
he  "hit  it  exactly." 

As  evidence  that  I  am  not  misrepresenting  rural 
humanity,  let  us  consider  for  a  moment  the  view  taken  by 
many  of  my  neighbors  of  the  ever-expected  but  really  un- 
certain, if  not  mythical,  January  thaw.  Our  winters,  as 
we  well  know,  are  budgets  of  meteorological  uncertainties. 
While  I  write  I  am  listening  to  warbling  bluebirds,  and 
there  are  yet  green  leaves  peeping  above  the  sered  sod  of 
the  meadows ;  and  beyond,  a  long  train  of  laden  coal-cars 
is  passing  by,  each  car  with  its  freight  of  dusky  diamonds 
capped  with  a  deep  covering  of  glistening  snow.  The 
many  warm  showers  that  we  have  had  of  late  have  been 


JANUARY.  13 

snow-squalls  on  the  mountains.  Here,  the  meadows  and 
uplands  alike  have  been  bare  for  days,  save  a  few  thread- 
like remnants  of  the  deeper  drifts ;  and  now  we  are 
having  that  spring-like  interim  which  all  know  as  a 
"  January  thaw." 

I  can  find  no  descriptive  reference  to  this  feature  of 
the  year's  first  month,  nor  can  date  the  origin  of  the 
familiar  phrase. 

Let  but  a  little  noonday  warmth  moisten  the  tapering 
tip  of  an  icicle,  and  the  village  weather-prophet  straight- 
way predicts  a  coming  thaw ;  but  just  what  degree  of 
mildness  and  how  much  melting  of  snow  and  ice  is  ne- 
cessary to  make  the  thaw  a  typical  one  remains  to  be  de- 
termined. Certainly,  it  very  seldom  happens  that  all 
frost  disappears  if  the  preceding  December  has  been  cold. 

That  I  might  gather  information  on  the  subject,  I  re- 
cently visited  two  places  near  by,  where  the  graybeards  of 
the  neighborhood  most  do  congregate — the  cross-roads 
smithy  and  the  tavern  opposite. 

I  found  Benajah  Bush  at  the  former,  and  fortunately 
in  a  communicative  mood.  "  Do  we  always  have  a  Janu- 
ary thaw  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  promptly  replied,  and  then  added,  "  no,  not 
always,  but  most  generally." 

"  What  is  the  January  thaw  ?  "  I  then  asked. 

"  Why,  it's  what  we're  havin'  now ;  a  regular  break-up, 
and  the  snow  gone  and  the  river  open  " ;  and  then,  after 
a  pause,  he  added,  "  We're  pretty  sure  to  have  it,  as  I've 
noticed  for  the  last  sixty  years." 

"  But  it  often  happens,"  I  replied,  "  that  we  have  no 
winter  until  Christmas ;  and  how  are  we  to  have  a  thaw,  if 
there  has  been  no  freezing  ?  " 

"  That's  so,  and  them's  the  years  that  we  skip  the 
thaw,"  Benajah  remarked,  meditatively. 

"  And  it's  the  case  in  about  one  half  of  our  winters,  so 


14:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

I  can't  count  you  one  of  our  weather-wise  folks,"  and  with 
this  ungracious  parting  shot  I  skipped  over  to  the  tavern. 

In  the  bar-room  of  the  White  Horse  I  found  Asa 
Thorngate  sitting  near  the  stove,  and  I  asked  him  the 
same  question  and  got  much  the  same  reply  that  Benajah 
had  given,  but  he  added  the  one  important  item  that "  you 
can't  calc'late  on  the  winters  as  we  used  to  when  I  was 
young." 

"Why  not?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  the  snow  used  to  come  early ;  sometimes  late 
in  the  fall  and  lie  on  the  ground  until  well  on  in  March. 
It  was  winter  steady,  and  you  could  put  up  wheels  and 
travel  on  runners  the  whole  season." 

"  And  didn't  you  have  any  January  thaw  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  pretty  regular,  and  the  ground  would  be 
clean — " 

"  You  would  go  sleighing  on  bare  ground  then  ? "  I 
interrupted. 

Garrulous  old  Asa  looked  up  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion, and  was  about  to  explain,  but  I  did  not  wait ;  and 
now,  after  thinking  it  over,  have  concluded  that  the  dis- 
tinction between  a  January  thaw  and  a  "  warm  spell "  in 
December  or  a  "  break-up  "  in  February  is  insignificant ; 
and  that  the  one  is  about  as  likely  to  occur  as  either  of  the 
others,  and  not  one  whit  more  so. 

A  January  thaw,  to  be  a  prominent  feature  of  the 
month,  is  necessarily  dependent  upon  the  degree  of  frost 
prevailing  during  December.  If  the  latter  month  is  mild, 
with  little  or  no  snow,  then  the  still  milder  weather  after 
New  Year's  will  produce  no  very  marked  effect.  Fortu- 
nately, it  sometimes  happens  that  there  is  considerable 
snow  and  a  firmly  frozen  river  in  December,  and  then  the 
typical  thaw  terminates  with  a  midwinter  freshet,  often 
disastrous,  it  is  true,  but  sure  to  open  up  a  charming  new 
world  to  the  outdoor  naturalist. 


JANUARY.  15 

Along  the  river,  and  in  every  pent  valley  of  the  smaller 
creeks,  is  enacted  an  exciting  drama.  Animal  life,  that 
long  since  withdrew  into  snug  quarters  to  await  the  com- 
ing spring,  or  had  cozy  retreats  from  tempestuous  weather 
and  ventured  abroad  only  when  the  day  or  night  was  fair, 
is  alike  now  turned  out  of  house  and  home,  and  put  to  its 
wits'  ends  to  find  a  place  of  safety. 

Occasionally,  I  have  known  a  hollow,  glohular  nest  of 
closely  matted  grass,  filled  with  the  tightly  curled  body 
of  a  soundly  sleeping  jumping  mouse,  to  roll  from  the 
crumbling  bank  of  a  creek,  and,  as  it  was  borne  along 
toward  the  river,  the  occupant  to  be  roused  by  the  en- 
croaching water.  One  such  poor  creature  was  plucky  and 
struggled  bravely  to  reach  the  shore,  but  only  to  find  its 
strength  exhausted,  and  my  subsequent  careful  nursing 
could  not  save  its  life.  There  is  no  staying  power  in 
these  little  bodies  to  withstand  so  great  a  change,  and  I 
am  surprised  that  they  should  ever  rouse  from  a  torpid 
condition  under  such  circumstances. 

Very  different  is  it,  however,  with  the  omnipresent 
meadow  mice.  They  bob  up  serenely  to  the  surface  when 
the  flood  covers  their  grassy  runways,  and,  swimming 
with  ease,  spend  their  time  in  voyages  of  discovery,  mak- 
ing every  floating  object  that  will  sustain  their  weight  a 
port.  When  you  approach  them,  they  await  your  coming 
until  nearly  within  your  reach,  and  then  dive  abruptly, 
sinking  from  sight  as  though  suddenly  turned  to  lead. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  poor  shrews,  although  not  timid 
when  about  the  water  in  summer,  and  active  enough  in 
winter  when  their  coats  are  dry,  find  the  current  too  swift 
and  bewildering,  and  often,  succumb  after  swimming  a 
few  rods. 

The  reptile  world  at  this  time  is  represented  by  the 
familiar  water-snakes,  and  they,  too,  are  well  worthy  of  a 
moment's  notice.  All  know,  I  presume,  how  sensitive  to 


16  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

cold  are  serpents  generally.  This  species  is  one,  at  least, 
that  is  not  helpless  when  plunged  into  icy  waters,  and  has 
no  idea  of  soaking  to  death  when  a  January  thaw  sub- 
merges its  winter  quarters.  "Why  they  are  disturbed  by  it 
at  all  I  do  not  know,  for  they  hibernate  in  mud  and  not  in 
dry  earth.  However,  the  freshet  brings  many  to  the  sur- 
face, and  their  activity  adds  to  the  attractiveness  of  the 
flooded  meadows.  They  are  not  so  quick-motioned  as  in 
midsummer,  but  rarely  are  caught  napping,  even  by  the 
wary  crows,  which  enjoy  harassing  them  upon  every  occa- 
sion, yet  never,  or  very  seldom,  kill  and  devour  them. 

Insect  life  likewise  is  roused  from  its  slumbers  and 
probably  no  time  is  so  favorable  to  gather  beetles  as  when 
they  are  floated  to  the  shore  by  the  rising  waters.  I  have 
seen  the  meadow  margin  lined  with  them,  and  hundreds  of 
specimens  could  be  gathered  of  species  rarely  to  be  found 
at  any  other  time. 

All  predatory  animals  that  withstand  the  rigor  of  win- 
ter look  upon  the  January  thaw  as  their  annual  jubilee. 
Minks,  musk-rats,  hawks,  and  crows,  particularly,  are  ever 
on  the  alert  for  the  benumbed  mice,  snakes,  turtles,  and 
insects  that  are  now,  if  not  helpless,  at  least  at  a  great 
disadvantage.  All  day  long  they  are  prowling  along  the 
shores  of  the  new-born  lake  and  congregate  on  the  little 
islands  that  are  formed  by  the  knolls.  While  eager  to 
prey,  they  are  mindful  that  their  arch-enemy,  man,  may 
prey  upon  them ;  so  they  keep  out  of  sight  when  danger 
threatens,  and  the  naturalist  must  be  cautious  indeed  as 
he  rambles  over  the  submerged  meadows.  But  if  so,  then 
every  moment  will  prove  precious  and  no  day  too  long, 
and  if  the  day  is  followed  by  a  moonlit  night,  then  will  his 
cup  of  happiness  be  filled  to  the  very  brim. 

The  last  January  freshet,  while  not  remarkable  for  the 
depth  of  the  overspreading  waters,  all  the  higher  mead- 
ows remaining  uncovered,  had  the  great  merit  of  con- 


JANUARY.  17 

tinning  several  days,  and  so  gave  me  an  opportunity  of 
exploring  it  at  all  points,  and  by  night  as  well  as  by  day. 
Many  a  wide  tract  was  too  shallow  even  for  a  canoe,  but 
here  I  could  wade  with  safety.  This  method  of  rambling 
proved  much  more  tedious  than  ordinary  walking,  but  had 
advantages  that  well  repaid  the  extra  exertion. 

I  proved  a  puzzle  to  every  creature  I  met,  when  wad- 
ing through  these  shallow  waters,  for,  except  a  few  ducks, 
none  seemed  positively  afraid.  I  kept  my  coat  wrapped 
closely  about  me,  having  learned  from  the  late  Richard 
Jefferies  that  nothing  so  frightens  an  animal  as  our  sway- 
ing arms ;  and  I  moved  so  evenly  that  the  water  was 
but  slightly  agitated.  So,  whether  I  was  man  or  log, 
was  a  problem  solved  by  few  of  the  many  creatures  that  I 
met. 

As  might  be  expected,  I  disturbed  many  meadow  mice 
that  were  as  active  in  the  water  as  though  strictly  aquatic 
animals,  and  it  was  evident  that  the  permanent  change  of 
environment  would  not  render  this  species  extinct.  Cer- 
tainly, animals  so  little  incommoded  by  freshets  as  are 
these  mice  would  have  great  advantages  over  the  other 
mice  that  are  found  here,  if  radically  altered  conditions 
were  brought  about.  As  they  swam,  dived,  and  crouched 
at  the  roots  of  the  bunched  weeds  and  grasses,  they  looked 
like  and  constantly  suggested  pygmy  musk-rats.  This  is 
the  more  interesting  because  these  creatures  are  by  no 
means  confined  to  the  meadows,  but  are  abundant  in  the 
highest  and  driest  of  upland  fields,  where  even  drinking- 
water,  except  the  dew,  must  be  hard  to  find. 

During  my  longest  stroll  I  found  no  larger  game  than 
the  mice  I  have  mentioned,  until  in  the  very  middle  of  a 
wide  meadow,  where  the  water  was  less  than  a  foot  deep, 
I  overtook  a  musk-rat — one  of  the  largest  and  blackest 
that  I  have  ever  seen.  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  animal's 
discomfiture,  and  I  can  vividly  recall  its  look  of  defiance 
2 


18  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

and  occasional  demoniacal  grin.  The  water  was  too  deep 
for  it  to  run  rapidly  upon  the  ground,  and  too  weedy  to 
allow  it  to  swim  with  ordinary  speed.  Its  alternated 
efforts  to  effect  escape  in  either  way  were  extremely  lu- 
dicrous. I  think  it  soon  saw  the  utter  hopelessness  of 
averting  the  supposed  danger  by  such  means,  hence  the 
bold  face  that  it  put  on  from  time  to  time. 

In  this  case,  as  in  many  another,  despair  led  to  des- 
peration, and  reckless  bravery  became  the  impelling  force. 
As  the  timid  bird  will  unhesitatingly  attack  its  most  dan- 
gerous foe  in  defense  of  its  mate  or  young,  so  mammals 
like  the  musk-rat  show  absolutely  no  fear  at  times  when 
their  ordinary  means  of  defense  or  of  escaping  danger  are 
evidently  of  no  avail.  If  we  study  almost  any  of  our 
higher  animals  under  such  conditions,  the  evidence  that 
their  thought-power  is  really  considerable  when  roused  to 
its  extreme  of  action  is  very  apparent,  and  often  stands 
them  successfully  in  need.  Either  this,  or,  like  the  stupid 
opossum,  they  are  overcome  with  fear,  and  so  through 
mental  weakness  fall  a  victim  where  more  intelligent  ani- 
mals might  escape.  I  have  seen  a  flying  squirrel,  when 
surprised  by  a  cat,  throw  itself  into  every  conceivable  po- 
sition, and  change  from  one  to  another  with  such  rapidity, 
uttering  sharp  cries  all  the  while,  that  the  cat  was  not 
only  bewildered,  but  actually  so  alarmed  as  to  beat  a  hasty 
retreat.  Here,  indeed,  fear  led  the  squirrel  slightly  beyond 
the  bounds  of  reason,  as  the  violent  efforts  continued  for 
a  few  seconds  after  the  danger  was  over.  The  effect  of 
this  was  not,  as  might  be  thought,  to  seriously  affect  the 
squirrel's  nervous  system  or  result  in  fatal  collapse.  After 
a  brief  rest  the  plucky  little  fellow  was  able  to  climb  to  a 
high  branch  of  a  tree,  and  from  it  fly  to  its  nest  in  an- 
other, some  distance  off. 

It  may  be  claimed  that  this  was  purely  hysterical  and 
meaningless ;  it  appeared  to  me  at  the  time,  and  I  still  re- 


JANUARY.  19 

gard  it,  as  designed  for  the  purpose  that  it  accomplished, 
namely,  the  cat's  discomfiture. 

To  return  to  the  musk-rat.  I  continually  headed  it 
off,  and  did  not  notice  at  the  time  that  in  spite  of  my 
movements  it  pursued  the  same  general  direction.  Often 
I  was  startled  by  the  mighty  leaps  it  made,  not  quite  clear- 
ing the  water,  but  so  disturbing  it  that  for  the  moment  I 
lost  sight  of  it  in  the  commotion.  Whenever  I  approached 
very  near,  and  stooped  as  though  to  touch  it,  the  rat  would 
show  its  teeth  and  look  more  ferociously  than  ever,  but  utter 
no  sound.  Even  when  it  came  to  a  hassock  or  thickset 
growth  of  weeds  it  made  no  attempt  to  dive,  but  once,  on 
the  contrary,  climbed  quite  above  the  water,  upon  a  low 
projecting  stump,  and  squatted  upon  its  hind-legs,  as  though 
to  see  what  chance,  if  any,  offered  to  rid  itself  of  my  ob- 
noxious presence.  Certainly,  the  controlling  emotion  of 
the  animal  was  intense  anger  and  a  determination  to 
frighten  me,  rather  than  that  of  fear,  which  under  such 
circumstances  would  have  overcome  its  discretion  and 
rendered  it  helpless. 

Perhaps  the  cunning  rat  knew  the  geography  of  the 
meadows  better  than  I,  for,  as  it  proved,  a  deep  and  wide 
ditch  was  soon  reached,  and  when  I  was  quite  off  my 
guard  the  animal  gave  one  desperate  plunge  and  disap- 
peared ;  an  effort  on  its  part  so  vehement  that  it  may  well 
be  described  as — explosive. 

I  must  confess  to  the  cruelty  of  my  actions  in  all  this, 
for  the  mental  suffering  of  the  musk-rat  was  doubtless  in- 
tense. "  Suppose  I  had  been  teased  in  this  manner  by  a 
cougar  or  bear,"  I  said  to  myself,  and,  as  I  walked  away, 
resolved  in  the  future  to  be  more  merciful. 

But  this  spring-like  mildness  and  the  accompanying 
freshet  is  but  a  transient  feature  of  the  month,  and  often 
within  the  same  week  come  bleak  winter  days.  How  full 


20  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

of  meaning  is  that  short  word  "  bleak  " !  It  suggests  every 
discomfort  of  a  winter  day.  It  means  that  the  world  is 
cloud- wrapped,  and  sunshine  but  a  memory.  It  means  the 
relentless  north  wind  buffeting  the  forest ;  the  face  of  the 
upland  fields  scoured  with  eddying  clouds  of  sand  and 
snow.  The  traveler,  turning  his  back  to  the  world,  scans 
the  southern  sky  'twixt  hope  and  fear ;  for  when  winter 
days  are  really  bleak  it  indeed  needs  sharp  eyes  to  spy  out 
each  shadowy  promise  of  relief.  Such  was  a  recent  day, 
when  from  my  cozy  corner  the  familiar  outlook  was  wholly 
forbidding.  But  for  hours  I  had  wondered  what  of  the 
wild  life  that  only  yesterday  had  made  merry  the  same 
scenes.  Was  every  creature  now  a  victim  of  despair, 
crouching  soulless  and  dumb  in  some  safe  shelter  ?  or  could 
it  be  the  fields,  wood,  and  meadows  were  deserted  ? 

Summoning  all  my  courage,  I  sought  the  frozen  mead- 
ows as  probably  the  least  dreary  spot  within  reach,  for 
there  the  winds  were  stayed  by  the  winding  terrace  with 
its  towering  trees ;  and  while  yet  on  the  hill-side,  thinking, 
I  know  not  why,  of  shrews,  I  found  fresh  leaves.  Winter- 
green,  bright  as  May  blossoms,  dotted  here  and  there  the 
ground,  and  above  them  waved  the  ranker  foliage  of  sas- 
safras and  bay.  How  weak  to  impute  our  own  want  of 
courage  to  all  Nature  ! 

I  need  but  seek  some  sheltered  nook 

The  giant  oaks  atween, 
And,  spite  the  chilly  northern  blast, 

I  find  some  trace  of  green. 
Some  hopeful  flower,  brave  of  heart, 

Makes  glad  the  lonely  spot, 
And  cheerless  Winter's  deadly  grasp 

On  Nature  is  forgot. 

I  had  been  thinking  of  shrews,  and  now,  strangely 
enough,  from  a  narrow  snow-drift  suddenly  a  black  speck 
appeared.  It  immediately  became  larger,  and  assumed 


or 

UNIVEKSIT  , 
JANUARY.          ^  21 

.  ^^^*^l**^*~*i^^^^'' *~ 

definite  shape.  It  was  a  shrew.  When  fairly  upon  the 
surface  of  the  snow,  the  little  creature  commenced  leaping 
in  different  directions,  as  though  desirous  only  of  stretch- 
ing its  limbs.  I  was  several  paces  off,  and,  eager  to  have 
a  closer  view,  cautiously  drew  nearer.  A  single  step  taken, 
and  the  wary  creature  stood  up  in  a  nearly  erect  position, 
much  as  a  squirrel  might  do,  then  dived  into  some  small 
opening  in  the  drift.  Every  movement  suggested  that  the 
creature  was  largely  guided -by  the  sense  of  sight;  yet, 
they  are  held  to  depend  upon  hearing  almost  entirely; 
and,  too,  they  are  nocturnal  creatures.  However,  the  day 
was  as  gloomy  if  not  as  dark  as  night. 

I  can  make  nothing  of  these  animals.  It  is  by  mere 
chance  that  I  ever  see  them,  and  yet  the  cats  continually 
bring  them  from  the  hill-side,  leaving  them  on  the  porches 
or  the  garden  walk.  I  recently  chased  one,  as  I  thought, 
into  the  heaped-up  leaves  that  filled  an  angle  of  a  worm 
fence,  but  could  not  find  it,  until,  on  reaching  home,  it 
was  discovered,  dead,  in  a  pocket  of  my  overcoat.  How  it 
got  there  I  can  only  conjecture.  However  bleak  the  day, 
then,  there  is  at  least  one  form  of  mammalian  life  astir. 

The  creaking  of  the  wind-tossed  branches  overhead 
was  by  no  means  assuring  as  I  passed  to  the  open  mead- 
ows ;  but  courage  revived  when  I  heard  the  defiant  cry  of 
the  crested  tit.  Did  the  world  know  this  bird  better, 
there  would  be  fewer  cowards.  At  the  very  outset  of  my 
proposed  walk  my  steps  were  stayed.  A  prominent  feature 
of  the  meadows  here  was  a  relic  of  the  very  recent  past. 
The  last  January  freshet  was  a  very  transient  phenome- 
non ;  it  came  and  went  in  a  day  or  two,  and  within  a  week 
was  forgotten  by  half  the  neighborhood ;  but  the  beach- 
mark  still  remains,  and  standing  afar  off,  this  sinuous, 
dull  gray  line,  the  free-hand  autograph  of  the  recent  flood, 
is  pretty  as  a  whole  and  tells  a  winsome  story.  Drawing 
near,  I  saw  with  what  strange  ink  had  this  one  been  writ- 


22  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

ten.  Sun-dried  mud,  dead  grass,  twigs,  stranded  bushes, 
and  here  and  there  a  drowned  animal,  were  well  blended, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  and  as  a  whole  were  quite  in 
place,  as  they  wound,  like  a  ragged  ribbon,  along  the  hill. 
If  but  merely  glanced  at,  nothing  could  be  found  more 
in  keeping  with  a  bleak  winter  day  than  this  relic  of  the 
recent  flood.  Every  object  you  saw — leaf,  twig,  or  animal — 
was  dead.  So,  too,  has  seemed  the  whole  world  as  seen 
from  my  study  windows.  But  upon  stirring  the  matted 
mass  it  proved  to  be  harboring  life  in  many  forms.  The 
sunshine  of  preceding  days  had  been  stored  up  here,  and 
throughout  the  maze  many  creatures  of  many  kinds  found 
all  things  favorable  for  active  existence.  Almost  the  first 
leaf  that  I  overturned  disturbed  a  gaunt,  grim  spider,  that 
mounted  a  short  projecting  twig  and  glared  back  at  me 
with  a  torrid  rather  than  a  frigid  countenance.  Deeper 
in  the  drifted  mass,  where  the  trickling  waters  of  a  little 
spring  had  formed  a  shallow  pool,  were  numbers  of  a  long, 
lithe,  yellow  salamanders,  which  I  had  not  found  before, 
and  so  had  held  were  not  to  be  included  in  our  fauna.  I 
forgot  for  the  time  that  others  might  have  been  more  for- 
tunate, as  was  the  case,  and  so  my  denial  was  on  a  par 
with  that  of  many  critics,  for  with  them  denial  is  about 
their  only  stock  in  trade. 

Even  insect  life  was  not  wanting,  and  small  black  bee- 
tles that  had  outlived  the  summer  were  abundant,  as  well 
as  the  dried  bodies  of  many  that  had  droned  through  hot 
August  nights,  and  hidden  themselves  away  when  the 
early  frosts  of  autumn  had  chilled  them  to  the  core. 

My  dictionary  defines  "  bleak  "  as  "  cold,  open,  exposed, 
cheerless,  and  solitary  " ;  the  sum,  in  short,  of  all  outdoor 
miseries ;  and  perhaps  the  meadows  will  prove  to  be  typi- 
cally bleak.  So  I  thought,  but  as  I  wandered  on,  as  far 
as  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  even  over  the  rough  ice  that 
now  hides  the  wide  stream  from  view,  I  found  no  spot  as 


JANUARY.  23 

terrible  as  the  definition  implies.  Everywhere  it  was 
cold,  open,  and  exposed,  but  never  cheerless  and  solitary. 
Scarcely  had  I  crossed  the  beach-mark  than  twittering 
tree-sparrows  came  floating  through  the  air,  each  breaking 
the  silence  as  it  reached  the  earth,  as  though  bearing  a 
dainty  sleigh-bell  on  its  breast. 

Even  the  frozen  river  was  not  bleak.  It  proved  to  be 
a  favorite  hunting-ground  of  the  omnipresent  crow,  and, 
however  funereal  in  appearance  itself,  no  bird  more  effectu- 
ally dispels  the  gloom.  As  seen  against  the  dazzling  white- 
ness of  the  snow-dusted  ice,  the  crows  were  very  prominent 
objects,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  companions  while  walking 
over  the  river,  now  a  new  pasture  for  me,  if  not  for  them. 

Judging  from  their  constant  clamor — for  each  had  un- 
restricted freedom  of  speech — these  crows  were  happy  as 
if  at  the  end  of  a  feast ;  but  it  is  not  always  so,  as  I  have 
known  the  ice  to  prove  very  tantalizing,  if  I  mistook  not 
one  poor  bird's  feelings  upon  a  certain  occasion.  Lately 
I  chanced  upon  a  solitary  crow,  without  being  seen  by  it. 
I  was  passing  at  the  time  through  a  little  wood,  walking 
upon  the  frozen  creek  that  divided  it.  The  ice  was  clear 
as  crystal  and  every  object  on  the  bed  of  the  stream  was 
plainly  to  be  seen.  The  crow  before  me  was  held  by  some 
strong  influence  to  a  particular  spot.  At  times  it  gazed 
solemnly  upon  or  through  the  ice ;  then  walked  round 
and  round,  as  though  looking  for  some  opening  therein ; 
then,  returning  to  the  fascinating  spot,  again  looked  stead- 
fastly down. 

I  was  quickly  curious  to  know  what  the  attraction 
might  be,  and  approached  the  troubled  bird.  It  was  loath 
to  leave,  and  flew  reluctantly  toward  the  meadows,  cawing 
petulantly  as  it  left  the  wood.  I  found  beneath  the  ice, 
where  the  crow  had  lingered,  the  skinned  body  of  a  musk- 
rat,  lodged  in  so  appropriate  a  spot  as  a  bed  of  mussels. 
A  tempting  feast,  this,  for  the  hungry  crow,  which  was 


24:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

puzzling  its  poor  brains  to  determine  why  such  plenty 
should  be  left  in  full  view,  and  yet  inaccessible.  Every 
movement  of  the  crow  suggested  that  it  was  thinking ; 
certainly  it  was  determined  to  reach  that  food,  if  within 
its  power.  There  are  those  who  insist  that  birds  can  not 
think.  I  would  that  all  such  could  have  seen  this  crow. 
No  single  act  bore  special  evidence  of  thought,  but  the 
bird's  whole  manner  spoke  volumes. 

And  toward  the  close  of  day,  when  most  birds  were  at 
rest,  from  a  still  open  spring-hole  started  a  great  blue 
heron.  It  flew  slowly  and  sadly,  as  though  it  felt  the  cold, 
but  did  not  complain.  That  day  is  not  bleak  when  I  can 
stand  on  the  lee  side  of  a  broad  oak  and  see  this  stately 
heron  watching  the  opening  waters  for  unwary  frogs. 
And  it  is  not  an  uncommon  winter  sight. 

But  these  cold,  sunless  days  with  chilling  winds,  that 
seem  so  bleak  to  many,  are  often  but  the  forerunners  of 
other  days — days  of  most  marvelous  beauty.  Since  my 
last  outing,  an  interim  of  warmth  and  much  rain,  filling 
the  hours  of  a  long  winter  night,  was  quickly  followed  by 
the  returning  north  wind,  and  at  sunrise  the  whole  world 
was  encrystaled.  Not  even  the  tiniest  twig  nor  any  slen- 
der blade  of  last  year's  grass  but  was  incased  with  ice  and 
sparkling  as  never  did  fairy  cave  in  our  wildest  flight  of 
fancy ;  and  with  all  this  was  music.  The  linnets,  finding 
no  sure  footing  in  the  trees,  sang  as  they  drifted  in  the 
fitful  wind.  And  later,  when  the  woods  resounded  with  a 
bell-like  shower  of  falling  crystals,  the  bluebirds  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  hour  and  warbled  along  the  forest's  vaulted 
paths. 

In  fact,  birds  were  nowhere  wanting ;  and  from  what 
strange  places  they  sometimes  appeared !  Tilted  cakes  of 
ice  covered  the  sloping  banks  of  a  creek  I  lately  crossed, 
and  from  a  wide  crevice  came  a  winter  wren,  quick-winged 
and  restless  as  its  summer-tide  cousins  of  my  door-yard. 


JANUARY.  25 

And  afar  off,  hopping  amid  the  stranded  rubbish  upon 
the  river's  bank,  are  song-sparrows  that  find  our  winters 
passing  good,  if  their  daily  singing  voices  their  content. 

Herein,  then,  lies  the  merit  of  our  winter — it  does  not 
leave  us  to  grope  about  in  silence ;  for  the  rustling  of  dead 
leaves,  the  cracking  of  great  trees  or  of  the  ground  during 
intense  cold,  and  the  booming  of  the  ice-bound  river, 
alone,  are  but  hollow  mockeries,  but  coupled  with  the 
songs  of  our  many  winter  birds  each  is  a  soul-stirring 
melody. 

So  seldom  do  we  have  a  really  deep  and  long-lasting 
snow  that  when  one  comes  the  familiar  fields  have  all  the 
charm  of  a  new  country.  I  speak  advisedly  when  I  say 
that  a  deep  snow  is  unusual,  and,  having  the  records  of  a 
hundred  years,  fear  no  damaging  contradiction.  The  ge- 
ology of  the  region  has  something  to  do  with  this,  for  the 
higher  and  colder  clay  soils  to  the  north  and  west  are  often 
deeply  covered  when  there  is  little  or  no  snow  here.  Often 
does  it  happen  that  we  have  a  cold  and  sleety  rain  when 
the  ground  is  white  scarcely  five  miles  away.  Therefore 
it  is  that  my  more  distant  neighbors  have  the  snow  bunt- 
ings in  abundance  when  not  one  comes  near  us ;  and 
often  across  the  river,  in  the  dark,  rocky  woods,  the  cross- 
bills throng  the  thickset  cedars,  while  I  look  for  them  in 
vain  along  the  home  hill-side.  So  every  petty  area  has  its 
own  attractions  to  the  birds,  and  where  the  snow  lies  long- 
est and  the  vegetation  best  recalls  their  northern  homes 
will  our  winter  visitants  most  surely  be  found.  In  the 
home  fields  a  really  deep  snow  is  so  far  uncommon  that  I 
honestly  love  it. 

I  have  in  mind  one  such,  in  January — a  very  marvel 
of  a  midwinter  storm.  There  were  no  huge  drifts  and 
desolate  areas  of  naked  ground,  but  every  space  and  tree 
and  tiny  twig  was  weighted  to  the  utmost :  this,  in  brief, 
the  effect  of  the  storm  that  continued  during  the  silent 


26  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

hours  of  the  night ;  and  then,  the  day  following,  a  flood 
of  brilliant  sunshine. 

"  Firm-braced  I  sought  my  ancient  woods, 
Struggling  through  the  drifted  roads ; 
The  whited  desert  knew  me  not ; 
Snow-ridges  masked  each  darling  spot ; 
The  summer  dells,  by  genius  haunted, 
One  arctic  moon  had  disenchanted." 

The  deathlike  stillness  of  the  mantled  woods,  with 
their  trackless  paths  leading  from  hushed  to  silent  soli- 
tudes, repelled  at  first,  but  the  ever-present  feeling  that  one 
is  never  absolutely  alone  led  me  on,  and  I  crept  beneath 
the  bent  branches  that  arched  above  me;  at  every  step 
hoping  some  companion,  however  humble,  would,  after  its 
fashion,  greet  me  "good  morning."  But  at  times  my 
faith  wavered  till  I  could  have  kissed  a  snake.  Nature 
was  under  a  powerful  anaesthetic,  and  I  should  soon  have 
felt  the  same  influence  had  the  silence  continued.  This 
was  not  to  be.  Pausing  at  the  partly  bared  roots  of  an 
enormous  oak,  I  thrust  my  cane  into  the  little  cave  beyond 
them,  and  disturbed  a  lazy  opossum  that  had  sought  its 
shelter.  I  was  not  surprised,  for  the  creature  had  been 
reported  to  me.  As  usual,  it  made  no  resistance,  nor  effort 
to  escape.  Prodding  it  until  it  started  to  move  away,  I 
followed  slowly,  watching  the  curious  gait  it  assumed,  as 
though  endeavoring  to  avoid  sinking  into  the  soft  snow 
and  so  become  helpless.  All  the  while,  the  whip-like  tail 
of  the  animal  trailed  upon  the  snow,  and  left  a  slightly 
tortuous  line,  as  distinctly  marked  as  the  creature's  foot- 
prints. 

I  was  delighted  to  have  the  company  even  of  an  opos- 
sum, although  I  have  always  insisted  that  the  animal  is 
very  foolish,  if  not  a  downright  fool.  Nor  do  I  expect  to 
recant.  Naturally,  I  recalled  the  musk-rat  with  which  I 
had  rambled  in  the  meadows,  and  every  comparison  was 


JANUARY.  27 

in  favor  of  the  rat.  To  have  gone  very  far,  however, 
would  have  proved  as  monotonous  as  the  silent  snow- 
bound woods,  and  I  was  planning  how  to  create  some 
variety  when,  at  a  bend  in  the  path,  my  sedate  opossum 
suddenly  rolled  itself  into  a  ball,  in  true  armadillo  fash- 
ion, and  went  spinning  down  a  steep  slope  into  an  (to  me) 
impenetrable  thicket  of  smilax.  That  it  was  a  sudden 
thought  generated  in  the  animal's  brain  and  thus  expedi- 
tiously  acted  upon  I  do  not  believe.  It  is  more  probable 
that  a  misstep  frightened  it,  and  the  curling  up  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice,  was  a  mere  coincidence. 

If  opossums,  when  surprised  in  the  fields,  were  accus- 
tomed to  run  for  the  woods  and  roll  down  the  nearest 
slopes  into  thickets,  then  I  could  believe  in  the  forethought 
of  my  opossum  in  the  snow ;  but  I  have  never  known  these 
animals  to  act  in  such  a  well-planned  manner. 

It  may  be  illogical  to  assert  it  and  yet  claim  so  much 
intelligence  for  our  other  mammals,  but  the  opossum,  it 
has  always  appeared  to  me,  throve  more  through  good 
luck  than  good  management. 

Practically,  it  is  a  step  in  advance  from  the  stupid 
marsupial  in  the  thicket  to  blue  jays  in  the  trees  above 
it ;  for,  however  it  may  run  counter  to  the  systems,  there 
can  be  no  question  of  the  jay's  mental  superiority.  The 
world  acquired  a  new  interest  the  moment  these  birds  ap- 
peared ;  for  the  presence  of  birds  at  any  time  is  magical  in 
effect.  They  are  magicians  that  transform  every  scene  ; 
make  of  every  desolate  desert  a  garden  of  delights.  No 
other  form  of  life  has  the  same  importance  to  the  rambler. 
I  have  often  seen  mammals  under  the  most  instructive 
conditions,  and  followed  in  their  wake  thousands  of  rep- 
tiles, fishes,  and  insects ;  but  my  motive  then  was  always 
simple  curiosity,  a  desire  to  learn  something  of  their  ways 
of  life,  and  little  chagrin  was  mine  if  my  labor  went  for 
naught.  It  is  different  when  I  meet  with  birds.  Then 


28  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

my  enthusiasm  is  all  aroused,  and  pleasure  or  pain  pre- 
dominates as  they  venture  near  me  or  hold  back  in  fear. 
Birds  are  creatures  by  themselves,  and  have  little  in  com- 
mon with  the  elaborate  laws  of  those  naturalists  who  know 
them  only  by  the  structure  of  their  bodies  and  not  by  the 
exhibition  of  an  advanced  intelligence  ;  which,  indeed,  is 
persistently  denied  them.  The  scale  of  bodily  structure  is 
one  thing,  that  of  intelligence  quite  another ;  but  all  this 
matters  not  at  present.  The  layman  can  rest  assured  that 
be  a  bird's  brain  wrinkled  or  smooth,  large  or  small,  it  is 
the  seat  of  a  quicker  wit  than  many  of  our  wild  mam- 
mals possess. 

These  chattering  jays  were  as  deeply  impressed  with 
the  novelty  of  the  surroundings  as  I  was.  They  entered 
heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  white,  wintry  day,  and  played 
what  I  may  call  a  game  of  snow- showering.  Flitting  and 
fluttering  through  the  laden  twigs,  these  joyous  birds  were 
often  lost  in  a  cloud  of  whirling  flakes,  from  which  they 
would  emerge,  screaming  wildly  their  delight. 

Perhaps  they  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and,  being 
too  clumsy  to  alight  without  displacing  the  snow,  turned 
their  awkwardness  into  sport.  This  explanation  may  be 
correct  as  applied  to  indefinitely  distant  generations  back, 
but  I  do  not  think  it  applicable  to  the  present  time.  The 
jays  along  my  hill-side  evidently  love  fun  as  much  as  do 
our  children,  and  if  they,  furthermore,  do  not  really 
laugh,  their  hearty  screams  are  at  least  closely  akin  to 
laughter. 

It  will  doubtless  be  thought  by  many,  if  not  by  most 
of  my  readers,  that  it  is  an  overbold  statement,  but  I  do 
not  hesitate  to  say  that  I  have  long  been  convinced  that 
many  of  our  birds  and  some  of  our  mammals  have  a 
fairly  well  developed  sense  of  humor.  Dr.  Lindsay,  in 
his  work  on  "  Mind  in  the  Lower  Animals,"  states  the 
case  as  follows  :  "  Certain  animals,  including  species  and 


JAN  VARY.  29 

genera  so  different  as  monkeys,  apes,  orangs,  and  baboons, 
the  dog,  cat,  horse,  elephant,  rabbit  and  squirrel,  the 
parrot,  mocking-bird,  starling,  magpie,  and  goose,  not  only 
perpetrate  practical  jokes  on  each  other,  or  on  man,  but 
they  enter  thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of  the  joke  or  fun ; 
they  enjoy,  exult  in,  their  or  its  success."  To  this  view  of 
the  question  I  heartily  subscribe. 

But  not  all  of  our  winter  birds  are  clumsy  in  the 
snow,  if  blue  jays  really  are,  and  before  this  merry  group 
of  them  passed  on  to  deeper  recesses  of  the  wood  I  saw 
a  ruby-crowned  kinglet.  Perfectly  fearless,  it  came  almost 
within  reach  of  my  hand  and,  leisurely  flitting  from  branch 
to  branch  of  clustered  spice- wood  bushes,  disturbed  noth- 
ing that  it  touched,  and,  as  I  found  by  careful  examina- 
tion, scarcely  left  its  mark,  and  never  a  foot-print,  as  it 
rested  on  the  delicate  ridges  of  snow.  What  the  bird 
found  to  eat  I  leave  the  world  to  conjecture,  but  if  this 
lone  kinglet  was  hungry,  it  was  not  unhappy,  and  occa- 
sionally sang  so  clearly,  sweetly,  and  with  so  much  earnest- 
ness as  to  be  suggestive  of  June  rather  than  January. 

One  word  more  concerning  this  species  of  kinglet.  I 
was  near  enough  to  identify  it  beyond  question.  This  is 
really  not  an  important  matter,  but  I  recalled  then,  as  I 
do  now,  that  it  has  been  stricken  off  the  list  of  New  Jer- 
sey birds,  or  of  winter  residents — upon  what  authority, 
I  do  not  know ;  but,  notwithstanding  this,  the  bird  re- 
mains with  us  every  winter,  and  is  so  happy  when  clam- 
bering about  our  waste  places,  or  insect-hunting  among 
the  evergreens  on  the  lawn,  that  no  one  would  suspect 
that  it  was  transgressing  any  law  of  migration. 

That  snowy  day  I  would  rather  have  remained  where 
I  then  stood,  and  kept  the  pretty  kinglet  near  me,  but  of 
course  could  offer  him  no  inducement  to  remain.  Like 
the  jays,  he  too  moved  on,  and  it  remained  for  me  to 
follow  their  example ;  this,  indeed,  was  all  I  could  do  if 


30  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

I  would  see  what  wild  life  was  astir.  At  other  times  a 
well-chosen  stand  is  better  for  general  observation,  creat- 
ures of  every  kind  often  passing  in  review  before  you,  but 
a  deep  snow  changes  all  this,  and  one  must  seek  for  nearly 
every  object  that  he  is  favored  to  see. 

Turning  toward  the  meadows  that  stretch  out  for 
miles  from  the  foot  of  the  hill,  I  thought  of  a  great  oil- 
cask  that  years  ago  was  sunk  in  the  ground  to  collect  the 
waters  of  a  little  spring.  It  is  a  favorite  spot  with  me  at 
all  times,  and  I  was  curious  to  know  how  its  many  inhab- 
itants had  fared  of  late ;  for  frogs,  snakes,  turtles,  and 
salamanders  never  fail,  in  winter,  to  make  it  their  home ; 
and,  I  may  add,  many  a  mouse  and  tortoise  find  it  their 
grave. 

Before  I  reached  the  spot,  I  was  delighted  to  make 
out  faint  foot-prints  on  the  snow  as  I  advanced,  and  so 
to  learn  that  some  creature  had  passed  that  way  since 
the  storm  ceased.  I  supposed  the  spring  to  have  been 
the  goal  of  the  creature's  journey,  as  it  was  of  mine, 
and  I  proved  correct  in  this,  for  the  first  object  that 
caught  my  eye  when  the  spot  came  in  view  was  my  late 
friend  the  opossum  of  armadillo-tactics  notoriety.  His 
mental  caliber  began  to  loom  up  into  respectable  pro- 
portions in  my  estimation.  Was  he  such  a  fool,  after  all  ? 
I  wondered  much,  and  was  ready  to  believe  a  great  deal, 
before  it  occurred  to  me  that  this  might  really  be  another 
opossum ;  and  certainly  the  tracks  it  made,  and  the  ab- 
sence of  the  mark  made  by  the  tail,  suggested  another 
individual.  What  the  animal's  object  was  in  visiting  the 
spring  in  the  broad  daylight  must  remain  unknown,  for 
my  abrupt  appearance  on  the  scene  quite  disconcerted  him, 
and  he  retired  with  as  much  haste  as  the  superlatively 
rough  walking  permitted.  That  the  opossum  sought 
food  rather  than  drink  at  the  spring  is  eminently  prob- 
able ;  but  upon  any  of  the  animals  living  in  its  waters,  I 


JANUARY.  31 

am  not  aware  that  it  ever  preys.  Possibly,  being  omniv- 
orous, opossums  are  fond  of  frogs,  and  yet  I  doubt  their 
ability  to  catch  them,  except  by  mere  chance.  But  this 
is  all  vain  speculation.  It  would  not  be  strange  if  this 
particular  marsupial  differed  from  his  fellows  in  such 
matters  as  that  of  food.  Tastes  vary  among  the  lower 
animals,  as  among  mankind,  and  one  in  a  thousand  opos- 
sums might  have  a  fancy  for  frogs  and  the  cunning  neces- 
sary to  capture  them,  and  the  fact  escape  notice.  Fixed 
habits  are  few ;  the  whims  of  individual  tastes  are  countless. 
The  frogs  in  the  spring  were  not  disconcerted  by  my 
presence,  and  many  remained  sunning  themselves,  squatted 
upon  every  object  that  would  sustain  their  weight  and 
which  reached  above  the  water.  Some  were  mottled, 
others  of  a  nearly  uniform  green  or  brown.  Some  were 
large,  and  many  more  were  quite  small ;  and  all  were  sleek 
and  plump  as  you  would  expect  to  find  them  in  midsum- 
mer. Either  fasting  had  not  decreased  their  bulk  or  they 
broke  their  fast  at  intervals  during  the  winter.  Both  sug- 
gestions, I  think,  are  true.  I  stretched  forth  my  hand  to 
take  up  these  frogs,  one  after  the  other,  but  all  objected, 
moving  backward  into  the  deep  water  with  a  crab-like 
celerity  and  grace.  Not  one  of  them  turned  his  back  on  me 
and  dived ;  but  all  simply  withdrew,  and,  to  my  surprise, 
always  to  a  position  quite  out  of  reach,  suggesting  that  they 
measured  the  distance  while  en  route.  I  have  always  held 
that  frogs  were  witless,  so  I  suppose  that  it  was  all  mere 
coincidence.  A  few  of  these  to-day  were  not  content 
with  deep  water,  but  passed  on  down  into  the  loose  sand. 
Another  possible  coincidence,  but  I  think  not,  was  that 
the  deep  green  aquatic  growths  waving  ceaselessly  from 
the  sides  of  many  of  the  half-rotten  staves  found  no  favor 
with  the  frogs  as  a  place  of  concealment.  Neither  then 
nor  since  have  I  found  any  of  them  among  them,  while 
they  often  rested  upon  the  bare  wood,  and  were,  of  course, 


32  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

quite  conspicuous.  It  would  seem  as  though  they  trusted 
wholly  to  their  sight  and  take  the  chances  of  being  sur- 
prised. When  on  land  their  hearing  is  also  largely  de- 
pended upon. 

One  patriarchal  bull-frog — a  giant  even  among  his 
gigantic  race — was  far  more  entertaining,  as  it  proved, 
than  the  small  fry  that  shared  with  him  this  cozy  notch  in 
the  hill-side.  Perhaps  he  was  asleep  all  the  while,  or  too 
lazy  to  look  up;  but  there  he  sprawled  upon  a  water- 
logged chip,  down  on  boiling  sands  that  at  times  shut  him 
from  view.  By  more  uncertain  light  I  might  have  ques- 
tioned his  identity,  and  the  strange  figure  he  cut  when  I 
prodded  him  with  my  cane  prompted  me  to  exclaim, 
"  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  execrable  shape  ? "  '  The 
sound  of  my  voice  appeared  to  rouse  him,  although  be- 
neath the  surface  of  the  water,  quite  as  much  as  my  cane 
had  done.  There  appeared  then  a  knowing  glitter  in  his 
eyes,  and  he  scanned  me  closely  as  might  a  gem  in  its 
matrix,  were  it  conscious.  I  determined  upon  that  great 
frog's  capture,  and  after  a  deal  of  trouble  succeeded.  But 
I  was  repaid  for  it  all.  Taking  his  frogship  up  very  ten- 
derly, I  handled  him  until  quite  warm  and  active,  and 
then  placed  him  very  gently  upon  a  ridge  of  snow,  some 
twenty  feet  from  the  spring.  The  frog  was  evidently 
quite  bewildered,  and  the  contact  of  his  aldermanic 
paunch  with  the  snow  was  not  only  a  novel  but  painful 
experience.  After  some  slight  alterations  of  position — as 
though  seeking  relief — the  troubled  creature  gave  one 
mighty  leap  and  landed  in  a  little  drift  that  had  no  sus- 
taining crust.  The  frog  quite  disappeared,  and,  to  my 
great  astonishment,  when  I  reached  the  spot  I  found  that 
he  was  burrowing  with  all  his  strength,  in  search  evidently 
of  the  ground  beneath. 

Bringing  him  again  to  the  surface,  I  expected  to  see 
either  another  leap  for  life  or  a  repetition  of  the  burrow- 


JANUARY.  33 

ing ;  but  no,  his  exposure  to  the  cold  was  becoming  too 
much  for  his  endurance,  and  in  a  most  pathetic  way  he 
rose  upon  all  fours  and  commenced  walking,  as  if  deter- 
mined at  least  to  protect  his  precious  stomach  to  the  last. 
A  more  ludicrously  awkward  gait  is  inconceivable.  I  can 
liken  it  only  to  the  hopeless  sprawling  of  the  patent 
jointed  tripod  that  came  with  my  camera.  I  laughed 
long  and  heartily  at  the  plucky  creature,  but  offered  no 
aid,  when,  it  must  be  admitted,  I  should  have  pitied  him. 
As  he  was  all  the  while  approaching  the  spring,  however, 
I  so  far  atoned  for  my  cruelty  by  not  again  molesting  him, 
and  really  rejoiced  when,  with  his  remaining  strength,  he 
plunged  into  the  sparkling  waters  that  are  still  his  home. 

The  sunshine  to-day  was  unremitting,  and  every  bird 
that  loved  a  clear  sky  was  finally  astir  during  the  after- 
noon. I  could  hear  them  everywhere,  yet  saw  distinctly 
but  very  few.  Every  distant  object  was  to  be  seen  but 
dimly  through  the  glimmering  air — sound  alone  meeting 
with  no  obstruction  ;  and  as  the  notes  were  sifted  through 
the  snow-bound  twigs,  the  familiar  song  of  many  a  favor- 
ite reached  my  ear.  v 

But  there  is  another  phase  of  winter  sunshine  worthy 
of  notice.  It  is  when  dense,  dull  gray  clouds  obscure  the 
sun,  except  for  the  briefest  intervals.  Such  times  affect 
our  birds  in  a  curious  manner.  Passing  the  long  smilax 
thickets,  where  I  expect  to  see  and  hear  the  tree-sparrows 
at  least,  there  is  absolute  silence.  Even  if  I  force  my  way 
into  the  little  openings  in  the  tangle,  or  throw  stones  into 
it,  or,  standing  near,  shout  long  and  loudly,  it  all  matters 
not.  There  is  not  a  chirp  to  be  heard ;  no,  nor  the  rus- 
tling of  a  dead  leaf ;  but,  waiting  until  the  sunshine  breaks 
through  some  rift  in  the  clouds,  and  immediately  a  score 
or  perhaps  a  hundred  birds  mount  to  the  upper  branches 
of  the  shrubs  or  mazy  tangle  of  the  brier,  and  music  forth- 
with floats  along  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  II. 

FEBRUARY. 

OF  nominal  winter,  February  is  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  Our  Delaware  Indians  called  the  month  Tsqualli 
gischuch,  the  Frog  Moon,  and  expected  to  hear  the  clammy 
batrachians  croaking  before  its  close.  This  they  were 
pretty  sure  to  do,  as  their  name  of  the  month  implies ; 
and  here,  by  the  way,  we  have  evidence  that  the  winters 
of  two  centuries  ago  were  not  so  widely  different  from 
those  of  our  own  time.  Certainly  of  late  years  it  is  the 
rule  that  the  diminutive  hylodes,  the  smallest  of  our  frogs, 
will  alternately  peep  and  rattle  "  once  in  February,  thrice 
in  March,  and  all  day  long  in  April."  I  have  this  from  a 
nonogenarian  who  claims  to  know,  and  it  accords,  after  a 
fashion,  with  my  own  field-notes ;  but  I  do  not,  like  my 
informant,  insist  that  it  is  a  "  rule,"  for  batrachians  of 
every  kind,  like  the  higher  animals,  are  loath  to  obey  any 
other  law  than  that  of  their  own  sweet  will.  Hence  the 
absurdity  of  making  ex  cathedra  statements  concerning 
them.  Utter  confusion  awaits  those  who  anticipate  find- 
ing our  animals  creatures  devoid  of  individuality.  Surely 
I  do  not  err  when  I  say  that  a  certain  toad  that  lived  in 
my  yard  recognized  me  as  its  friend  during  the  last  twelve 
years  of  its  life.  Examined  as  dead  specimens,  individuals 
of  a  given  species  can  not,  perhaps,  be  positively  distin- 
guished ;  but  studied  in  their  proper  belongings,  year  after 
year,  the  reverse  is  largely  true.  Even  in  so  low  a  form  of 


FEBRUARY.  35 

life  as  the  frog  there  may,  I  now  think,  be  detected  some 
trace  of  individuality,  though  formerly  I  had  grave  doubts 
upon  this  point. 

During  a  warm,  drizzling  rain,  last  October,  while  the 
outer  doors  were  open,  a  bright-red  wood-frog  hopped 
upon  the  porch,  then  into  the  hall,  and  finally  found  its 
way  into  the  dining-room,  where  it  was  captured.  Its 
beauty  proved  fatal  to  its  future  liberty,  and  now  for  some 
seven  months  this  wandering  wood-frog  has  been  the  pet 
of  a  friend,  and  that  it  recognizes  its  master  can  not  be 
disputed. .  When  I  took  the  frog  to  my  friend  it  was  wild 
as  a  hawk,  and  struggled  to  escape  whenever  approached ; 
but  now  it  is  submissive  as  the  most  sedate  old  house- 
cat.  To-day  it  came  from  its  cozy,  fern-clad  home  when 
called,  and  evidently  enjoyed  having  its  back  stroked.  It 
is  ever  ready  to  take  a  fly,  spider,  or  Croton-bug  from  my 
friend's  hand,  and  shows  in  many  ways  that  it  has  learned 
much  during  its  rose-colored  captivity.  While  watching 
the  knowing  ways  of  this  one,  I  put  the  question  :  Can  a 
frog  be  taught  as  well  as  merely  tamed  ?  and  the  reply 
was  an  emphatic  and  unqualified  affirmative,  substantiated 
by  the  exhibitions  of  intelligence  on  the  part  of  this  frog, 
as  mentioned. 

To  fully  realize  how  much  an  animal  may  know,  as 
judged  by  its  actions,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  see  the 
creature.  Mere  words,  lamely  describing  this  or  that  act, 
go  for  little.  I  am  always  in  despair  when  I  attempt  such 
description.  It  is  so  now.  That  wood-frog's  countenance 
was  full  of  meaning.  Every  movement  of  the  limbs,  how- 
ever slight,  every  turn  of  the  head,  and  the  short,  impa- 
tient leaps,  all  gave  to  those  present  impressions  which  it 
is  useless  to  attempt  describing  to  others.  The  essence  of 
these  impressions  is,  that  the  frog's  brain  was  at  the  time 
the  seat  of  simple  thought,  as  well  as  of  muscular  direc- 
tion and  half -automatic  movement.  And  I  am  disposed — 


36  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

nor  am  I  alone  in  this — to  go  a  little  further  and  express 
the  belief  that  were  any  number  of  unbiassed  persons 
present  and  watching  this  wood-frog,  as  I  did  to-day,  they 
would  agree  in  this,  that  the  animal  not  only  recognized 
my  friend,  but  had  a  semblance  of  affection  for  him. 

But  while  all  may  agree  that  animals  can  be  taught, 
it  is  by  no  means  every  man  who  can  be  a  teacher.  I 
have  known  those  with  whom  our  domestic  animals,  and 
especially  dogs  and  cats,  became  friendly  at  once,  while 
others  could  never  approach  them,  the  dogs  showing  their 
teeth  and  the  cats  decamping  in  fear ;  yet  thes.e  unfortu- 
nate people  honestly  desired  to  be  friendly,  and  were  really 
gentle  and  kind-hearted. 

My  friend  to  whom  I  have  referred  has,  to  perfection, 
the  happy  quality  of  gaining  the  confidence  of  animals. 
Within  a  few  days,  an  old  male  night-heron,  that  had 
been  caught  in  a  steel  trap,  was  brought  to  him.  The 
bird  was  not  of  an  amiable  disposition,  if  one  might 
judge  from  its  expression.  A  day  or  two  of  kindness  and 
coaxing  were  all-sufficient,  and  now  the  heron  is  fairly 
tame,  and  no  one  can  question  that  it  recognizes  its  master 
from  all  others,  coming  promptly  when  called  by  him 
and  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  the  entreaties  of  all  others.  In 
my  friend's  aviary,  the  same  evidence  that  he  exerts  an 
all-powerful  influence  over  the  birds  is  at  once  plainly 
noticeable.  It  is  amusing  to  see,  of  all  birds,  a  pair  of 
Virginia  rails  follow  him  about,  keeping  close  at  his  heel, 
like  a  brace  of  well-bred  spaniels.  It  was  an  error  on  my 
part  to  judge  too  exclusively  from  my  own  experiences, 
and  I  am  convinced  now  that,  like  the  toad,  which  I 
have  always  championed,  the  frogs  too  are  teachable. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  untaught  frogs  in  the  mead- 
ows. Strangely,  I  think,  they  have  never  received  that 
consideration  from  our  poets  that  is  their  due.  Is  it  be- 
cause their  "  music  "  is  not  popular  with  the  masses  ?  Yet 


FEBRUARY.  37 

where  in  all  nature  is  there  a  more  suggestive  sound  than 
the  earliest  singing  of  these  clammy  creatures  ?  They  are 
universally  said  to  croak,  as  though  the  eleven  species  of 
frog  and  frog-like  batrachians  that  are  found  in  this 
neighborhood  had  but  one  and  the  same  utterance.  Think 
of  it !  Toad,  spade-foot,  hyla,  the  little  peeper,  and  the 
true  frogs,  all  condemned  to  do  nothing  but  dolorously 
croak  !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  have  among  them  a  wide 
range  of  sound,  from  the  deep  bass  of  the  bull-frog  to  the 
piercing  treble  of  Pickering's  hyla.  We  hear  it  com- 
monly said  of  the  raven  that  it  croaks,  but  not  one  of  our 
batrachians  has  so  doleful,  despondent,  and  gloomy  a 
voice  as  has  that  strange  bird.  Certainly,  not  one  of  them 
utters  any  sound  that  remotely  resembles  the  weird  raven's 
cry.  Then,  too,  there  is  the  advantage  among  frogs  of 
thousands  singing  in  concert,  and  the  harshness  of  each 
individual's  voice  is  softened  so  that  the  volume  of  sound 
that  sweeps  over  the  meadows  has  a  veritable  grandeur. 
We  do  not  stop  to  detect  the  defects  of  any  single  song, 
but  acknowledge  the  success  of  their  united  efforts  in  re- 
joicing at  the  victory  gentle  Spring  has  gained. 

February  of  1888  proved  an  exceptional  month.  The 
frogs  did  not  sing.  There  were  days  and  days  of  warm 
sunshine,  tempering  winds,  and  all  the  torpor-dispelling 
agencies  in  full  force,  yet  they  failed  to  respond.  I  found 
them  sunning  themselves  by  many  a  spring-hole,  and 
squatted  with  noses  above  water  in  the  marshy  meadows, 
but  not  one  uttered  a  word  of  satisfaction.  I  lingered  for 
hours  about  the  upland  sink-holes,  hoping  to  hear  the 
rattling  hylodes,  but  not  one  rattled  or  peeped.  Although 
the  ice  had  disappeared  and  the  water  was  fairly  warm, 
they  remained  as  silent  as  when  frost-bound  in  January. 
Yet  they  were  not  inactive.  The  long  continued  cold  had 
not  chilled  them  until  helpless  or  stupid.  They  hopped 
vigorously  from  me  when  I  tried  to  catch  them.  There 


38  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

was  to  me  no  apparent  reason  why  they  should  not  have 
been  as  noisy  as  during  several  days  of  February,  1887, 
when  the  fields  resounded  with  their  cries.  What  past 
experience  gave  me  every  reason  to  expect  failed  me  here, 
and  the  explanation,  I  take  it,  it  were  vain  to  seek. 

Here  is  something  for  those  to  consider  who  hold  that 
animal  life  is  essentially  machine-like,  and  repeats  each 
year  the  acts  of  the  preceding  season.  And  so  it  is,  the 
wide  world  over.  Animals  have  abundant  power  over 
their  own  movements,  and  are  influenced  by  agencies  we 
as  yet  know  nothing  of. 

There  are  winter  days  that,  without  being  at  all  stormy, 
seem  determined  to  have  the  world  to  themselves.  The 
sky,  clouds,  and  every  tangible  object  from  which  we  hope 
a  welcoming  gaze,  returns  our  glance  with  a  let-me-alone 
look  that  is  very  disheartening.  Such  are  many  of  those 
in  February,  or  have  been  of  late  years,  and  for  general 
dreariness  they  throw  the  best  efforts  of  November  in 
this  line  quite  into  the  shade.  November  gloom  is  chilly 
and  depressing,  that  of  February  is  often  the  acme  of  des- 
olation. 

In  order  to  test  the  power  of  such  a  day  to  its  utmost, 
I  sought  the  loneliest  spot  within  easy  access,  the  drift- 
strewed  beaches  of  a  long  island  in  the  river,  and  picked 
my  way  through  the  flotsam  of  the  recent  flood  "  de- 
posited upon  the  silent  shore."  I  have  said  "  the  silent 
shore."  It  is  true  that  the  sobbing  of  the  waves  filled  the 
air,  but  this,  on  such  a  day,  is  one  of  those  sounds  in 
nature  which  merely  intensify  the  silence. 

The  whole  island  was  spread  out  before  me  as  a  sub- 
ject under  the  dissector's  knife ;  not  only  dead,  but  disor- 
ganized. It  mattered  not  how  deeply  I  probed,  how  freely 
I  cut,  there  was  no  trace  of  latent  life,  no  shuddering,  no 
protest,  however  faint,  and  my  bungling  work,  in  all  its 
ragged  disjointedness,  was  not  traceable  in  the  landscape. 


FEBRUARY.  39 

My  overturning  of  every  object  that  I  was  able  to  move 
made  it  no  less  in  place  than  before ;  the  confusion  was 
no  worse  confounded  because  of  my  interference.  Verily, 
for  once,  I  thought,  I  am  absolutely  alone.  But  it  was 
not  to  be.  Even  when  the  elements  conspire  to  drive  life 
into  the  background — as  they  seemed  bent  upon  doing  to- 
day— the  most  that  we  can  hope,  if  desirous  of  solitude, 
is  to  have  our  senses  dulled  to  the  proximity  of  our  neigh- 
bors. I  stamped  upon  the  brittle  twigs  covering  the  sandy 
shore,  that  the  sound  of  their  cracking  might  break  the 
monotony  of  the  river's  ripple,  and  broke  the  glossy  wil- 
low sprouts  that  chanced  in  my  way,  to  hear  their  scream- 
ing swish  as  I  lashed  the  dead  air;  and  my  desperate 
efforts  to  rouse  the  sleepers  startled  at  last  one  poor, 
crouching,  timid  song-sparrow  that  thridded  the  tangled 
underbrush  as  might  a  mouse.  I  had  learned  what  silence 
really  meant,  and  realized  what  absolute  deafness  must  be. 
It  was  enough  to  see  a  bird  and  not  hear  it.  Here  the 
despised  meadow-mouse  becomes  the  song-bird's  superior, 
for  with  swifter  feet  it  can  find  a  passage  even  through 
flood-tossed  driftwood. 

But  there  was  at  least  one  sparrow  abroad,  and  I  was 
happier  from  that  moment.  Trusting  the  bird  would  re- 
consider its  needless  flight  and  return,  I  waited  for  some 
minutes,  and  not  in  vain.  Back  it  came,  flying  now,  in- 
stead of  running,  and  when  very  near  me  clutched  a 
swaying  willow  branch  and  sang.  I  have  heard  birds' 
songs  under  endless  conditions,  but  never  such  hollow 
mockery  as  this.  Half  the  notes  were  caught  and 
strangled,  while  such  as  escaped  were  shorn  of  all  their 
sweetness.  The  sparrow  knew  that  it  had  sadly  blun- 
dered, and  dropped  silently  into  the  grass  beneath  it. 
Dead  days,  such  as  this,  tolerate  no  music,  not  even  a  dol- 
orous dirge. 

Let  me  ask  why,  if  one  sparrow  be  abroad,  there  may 


40  DAYS   OUT  OF  DOORS. 

not  be  a  hundred  skulking  near  and  likely  to  show  them- 
selves? The  chances  are  that  no  more  would  be  found 
should  I  search  diligently  for  hours.  What  has  become  of 
them  ?  This  is  a  problem  for  our  learned  ornithologists  to 
solve,  for  the  sudden  coming  and  going  of  our  resident 
birds  is  a  strange  feature  of  bird  life,  and  worthy  of  con- 
sideration. There  is  no  spot  for  miles  around  where  birds 
are  more  abundant  than  on  this  island,  and  yet  practically 
all  were  hidden  to-day,  so  closely  that  no  eyes,  however 
sharp,  could  have  spied  them  out.  Nor  is  it  sufficient,  as 
has  been  dogmatically  asserted,  to  say  that  they  have 
sought  the  better  shelter  afforded  by  the  hill-sides  across 
the  river.  Have  they,  indeed  ?  These  same  hill-sides  have 
been  searched,  and  not  a  bird  was  to  be  found.  There  are 
two  alternatives — they  either  hide  or  leave  the  neighbor- 
hood. Both  are  possible ;  the  latter  the  more  probable ; 
but  the  mystery  of  the  matter  still  remains.  There  are 
winter  days — few  in  number,  I  am  glad  to  say — that,  as 
my  record  runs,  are  birdless  ones ;  and  again,  others — like 
to-day — that  are  nearly  so.  At  the  dawn  of  such  days, 
weak- winged  birds,  as  sparrows,  tits,  and  kinglets,  appear 
to  suddenly  take  flight  and  pass  beyond  the  limits  of  an 
inclement  and  depressing  area,  often  miles  away ;  and 
knowing,  while  at  this  distant  point,  when  a  change 
has  taken  place,  return  as  suddenly  as  they  departed. 
This  seems  very  absurd,  yet  it  is  apparently  true ;  for,  on 
the  other  hand,  to  say  that  new  birds  take  the  place  of 
those  that  were  here,  is  to  assume  what  is  certainly  untrue, 
so  far  as  resident  species  are  concerned.  There  are  tits 
and  sparrows  and  Carolina  wrens  that  have  as  well-defined 
ranges  as  ever  did  a  game-cock,  and  keep  as  closely  to  it. 
One  need  but  become  familiar  with  the  peculiarity  of  some 
one  sparrow's  song  to  know  that  the  same  individual  will 
stay  not  only  for  a  season,  but  year  after  year,  in  one  lim- 
ited locality. 


FEBRUARY.  41 

There  are,  in  a  general  sense,  no  birds  on  the  island  to- 
day, and  if  to-morrow  be  clear  they  will  be  abroad  in  full 
force ;  but,  as  I  can  testify  from  repeated  experiences,  if 
you  stay  until  to-morrow,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  the 
night  through,  you  will  stand  guard  in  vain.  The  coming 
of  the  birds  will  be  without  a  sign ;  swift  as  the  first  flash 
of  the  morning's  sun. 

However  it  may  be  in  other  quarters  of  the  globe,  sea- 
sonal migration  along  our  river  valleys  is  in  no  way  re- 
markable, and  presents  nothing  of  near  like  interest  to 
many  a  phase  of  bird  life  during  either  the  summer  or 
winter  season.  This  sudden  change  that  I  have  men- 
tioned, and  which  occurs  at  all  seasons  but  when  the  birds 
are  nesting,  is  more  full  of  meaning,  and  throws  more 
light  upon  bird  intelligence. 

And  now  of  the  few  birds  that  remain.  Certainly, 
during  this  funereal  day  that  one  sparrow  gave  abundant 
evidence  of  being  in  anything  but  a  joyous  state  of  mind. 
It  acted  as  though  it  had  forgotten  itself  for  a  moment, 
and  so  was  either  frightened  or  ashamed ;  like  a  child  when 
it  speaks  aloud  in  church  and  is  answered  by  a  frown. 

It  will  doubtless  be  said  that  this  is  a  strained,  stilted, 
exaggerated  statement  of  the  effect  of  peculiarly  gloomy 
days,  or  even  a  baseless  fancy;  but  such  counter-state- 
ments, popularly  yclept  criticism,  do  not  alter  the  case, 
and  I  wish  that  some  I  kn<3w  would  winter  in  the  mead- 
ows for  one  season.  Well,  as  my  field  notes  show,  other 
than  bird  life  was  inactive.  When  I  chanced  to  overturn 
a  broad  bit  of  bark,  and  so  unroof  the  snug  retreat  of  a 
meadow-mouse,  it  did  not  flee,  but  crouched  in  one  corner 
as  though  expecting  me  to  shrink  to  its  size  and  share  its 
shelter  with  it.  Of  a  cold,  breezy  winter  day,  with  blue 
sky  and  yellow  sunshine,  how  quickly  this  same  mouse 
would  have  disappeared,  perhaps  before  I  could  have 
caught  a  glimpse  of  it !  Surely  there  is  something  that 


42  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

pervades  the  atmosphere  of  these  dead  days  that  tells  upon 
mice  as  well  as  men.  I  may  fairly  claim  a  liking  for  the 
outdoor  world,  yet  I  thought  constantly  to-day  of  the 
comforts  of  a  shelter,  and  regretted  that  I  had  wandered 
so  far  from  home.  Nor  would  I  have  remained  until  the 
day  closed  had  not  a  hollow  sycamore  offered  me  a  safe  if 
not  very  commodious  quarter,  from  which  I  could  see  the 
river  and  a  fair  sample  of  the  deserted  shores.  But,  as  so 
often  happens,  I  reckoned  rashly.  It  were  a  different  mat- 
ter whether  one  walked  or  sat,  and  now  that  I  had  a  house 
I  felt  the  need  of  a  fire.  This,  to  be  sure,  was  quickly 
provided,  and  only  to  find  that  with  its  warmth  I  must 
take  the  smoke,  and  through  the  latter  the  dismal  river 
was  a  still  more  doleful  sight.  Thus,  the  misfortune 
of  being  so  dependent  drove  me  from  my  new-found 
shelter,  and,  filled  with  disgust,  I  turned  my  steps  home- 
ward. 

I  had  not  gone  ten  paces,  however,  before  a  solitary 
blue  heron,  fearless  of  the  smoldering  fire,  settled  by  the 
river's  edge,  and  solemnly  stalked  along  the  narrow  beach, 
passing  by  with  so  much  dignity  that  I  could  scarcely  keep 
from  laughing.  It  was  indulging  in  vain  regrets,  I  fan- 
cied, that  it  had  chosen  to  winter  so  far  north.  But  perhaps 
the  poor  fellow  was  rheumatic  and  dared  not  venture  on 
a  migratorial  flight.  It  is  well  to  fortify  this  statement 
with  a  convenient  "  perhaps,"  for  the  measured  flapping 
of  the  heron's  wings,  as  it  came  down  the  river,  and  no 
less  measured  tread  as  it  paced  the  lonely  shore,  hardly 
warranted  such  a  suggestion. 

"When  I  left  the  heron,  it  was  perched  upon  an  uplifted 
branch  of  a  ghost-like,  stranded  tree  that  for  years  had 
been  bleaching  in  the  storms  and  sunshine  of  the  up-river 
region  ;  and  as  I  hurried  toward  my  boat  at  the  ford,  time 
after  time  I  looked  back  to  see  it  still  standing  with  its 
head  resting  upon  its  breast,  its  wings  drooping,  the  very 


FEBRUARY.  43 

picture  of  despair.     Would  it  not  have  been  less  mopish 
and  disconsolate  had  the  day  been  brighter  ?    I  think  so. 

It  is  strange  that  when  birds  are  seemingly  out  of  place 
and  apparently  laboring  under  every  disadvantage,  as  in 
the  case  of  herons  in  winter,  they  are  invested  with  greater 
interest  than  in  those  ordinary  conditions  when  they  are 
familiar  objects  of  daily  observation.  The  great  blue 
heron  and  the  "  quok,"  that  are  occasionally  seen  on  the 
meadows  and  along  the  river  during  the  winter,  are  sure 
to  command  a  greater  degree  of  attention  than  during 
summer,  and  add  unusual  interest  to  the  day's  outing. 
They  are  so  associated  with  warm  weather,  with  minnows 
in  the  shallow  brooks  and  frogs  in  the  spring-holes,  that 
we  wonder  why  they  are  here  now,  pity  them  if  necessity 
required  their  remaining,  and  are  puzzled  to  conjecture 
where  they  find  sufficient  food.  Such  was,  at  least,  the 
current  of  my  thoughts  until  I  found  that  there  never  was 
so  cold  a  day  that  some  open  water  could  not  be  found,  or 
water  so  cold  that  both  frogs  and  fish  did  not  venture  to 
be  abroad.  But  the  supply  of  food  from  such  sources  is  an 
uncertain  one  at  best,  and  probably  the  land  rather  than 
the  water  is  their  principal  hunting-ground.  In  other 
words,  they  are  hunters  rather  than  fishermen.  My  atten- 
tion was  recently  called  to  this  matter  by  a  taxidermist 
who  found  three  partly  digested  meadow-mice  in  the  stom- 
ach of  a  winter-killed  great  blue  heron.  Following  this 
clew,  my  own  observations  convinced  me  that  the  meadows 
were  systematically  hunted  for  the  innumerable  mice  that 
tunnel  the  matted  dead  grass  in  every  direction.  What  of 
deep  snows?  it  may  be  asked;  but,  fortunately  for  the 
herons,  lasting  snows  are  unknown  to  the  low-lying  tracts 
I  treat  of,  and  so  do  not  enter  into  the  matter  at  all.  I 
would  not  be  understood  to  say  that  mice  are  their  sole 
dependence  in  winter,  but  that  a  sufficient  number  are 
caught  to  make  up  the  deficiency  of  frogs  and  fish. 


44  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

The  day  suddenly  improved  in  two  respects.  As  I  was 
crossing  the  river  to  the  mainland  it  began  to  rain,  and  a 
kingfisher  sprung  his  rattle  directly  above  my  head.  I  am 
not  superstitious  beyond  what  other  men  are,  but  the  harsh 
cry  of  that  hopeful  bird  was  more  than  music  then,  assur- 
ing me  of  a  welcome  change  in  the  immediate  future, 
although  the  sky  was  now  as  gloomy  as  a  funeral  pall,  and 
every  drop  of  the  pitiless  rain  was  cold  as  charity. 

Even  though  it  be  an  icy  rain,  some  tangible  evidence 
of  energy  in  nature  is  far  more  grateful  than  death-like 
inactivity,  although  we  know  so  well  that  the  latter  is  not 
real.  When  out  of  doors,  one  never  expects  to  find  the 
world  at  rest,  and  anticipates  disaster  if  the  appearances 
but  vaguely  suggest  it.  It  is  said  that  an  ominous  silence 
precedes  an  earthquake.  Neither  the  silence  of  to-day 
nor  the  kingfisher's  cry  suggested  so  soon  a  change,  but  I 
felt  that  by  nightfall  there  would  be  a  new  order  issued, 
and  the  halcyon's  rattle  was  the  apparent  herald. 

It  would  have  been  foolish  indeed  to  have  turned  my 
back  upon  the  cheerful  blaze  of  an  open  fire,  and  started 
out  in  such  rain ;  but  to  face  it,  in  leaving  the  island, 
was  a  veritable  relief.  What  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances would  be  repelling  features  of  such  a  time  were 
now  pleasing  and  attractive  through  contrast,  and  the 
dripping  of  the  great  round  drops  upon  the  still  adherent 
leaves  of  the  sapling  beeches  and  oaks  that  were  yet  full- 
leaved  was  inspiriting  music. 

As  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  and  stormy  too,  the 
prospect  was  far  from  cheering  as  I  faced  a  broad  and 
weedy  meadow  that  must  needs  be  crossed;  but  I  had 
that  confident  feeling  of  being  repaid  for  my  trouble 
which  so  seldom  fails  me,  however  unpromising  may  seem 
the  outlook  to  others. 

Of  this  strange  confidence  I  can  not  give  any  definite 
description,  but  that  it  is  not  a  pleasant  mental  condition 


FEBRUARY.  45 

I  can  aver.  For  years  I  have  noticed  that,  without  the 
least  apparent  reason,  I  have  suddenly  thought  of  some 
one  animal  and  straightway  it  appears  upon  the  scene. 
It  was  so  this  afternoon.  I  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  a 
crow,  either  before  I  reached  the  island  or  while  upon  it, 
and  yet  that  these  birds  were  to  be  a  prominent  feature 
of  my  homeward  walk  I  was  positive ;  and  so  it  proved. 
What  does  it  all  mean  ?  Did  they  really  exert,  unknow- 
ingly, some  strange  influence  upon  me,  as  man  appears  to 
do  upon  man  when  through  the  senses  of  sight  or  hear- 
ing they  have  no  knowledge  of  each  other's  whereabout  ? 
I  have  long  thought  that  such  common  experience  could 
not  be  mere  coincidence,  and  so  the  whole  matter  becomes 
vexatious,  for  I  hate  mystery. 

I  had  not  gone  far  before  I  fell  in  with  a  company  of 
silent  crows.  Twenty  or  more  sat,  without  uttering  the 
faintest  sound,  on  the  lower  branches  of  a  huge  black 
birch.  I  caught  sight  of  them  before  I  had  been  seen, 
and  so  were  joined  two  rare  occurrences  in  the  bird  world — 
surprising  a  gathering  of  mute  crows.  I  should  have 
waited  where  I  stood,  and  so  had  a  chance  to  determine 
the  cause  of  their  silent  meeting ;  but  my  spirit  of  mischief 
overcame  discretion  and  I  shouted  loudly.  With  a  united 
cry  of  alarm  that  was  almost  deafening,  they  took  wing 
and  scattered  in  every  direction,  but  soon  gathered  again 
and  flew  in  one  direction,  down  the  river  ;  and  now  their 
mingled  voices,  pitched  on  a  dozen  different  keys,  sounded 
marvelously  like  an  earnest  conversation;  and  I  firmly 
believe  that  it  was. 

A  silent  and  solitary  crow  may  not  be  phenomenal, 
but  when  a  dozen  or  more  are  associated  and  all  refrain 
from  utterance,  then  rest  assured  that  something  of  grave 
import  occupies  their  minds.  I  do  not  know  how  far  down 
in  the  scale  the  remark  is  applicable,  but  if  we  have  any 
warrant  for  judging  animals  by  their  actions  and  voices, 


46  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

then  from  fishes  upward  they  frequently  stop  to  think. 
As  we  so  often  say  of  ourselves  and  of  other  people,  so  I 
am  warranted  in  saying  of  the  crows,  they  had  stopped  to 
think.  But  of  what  ?  Ah  !  that  is  another  matter. 

Poor,  persecuted  crows !  they  have  a  hard  time  of  it, 
and  only  their  excellent  wit  has  saved  them  from  annihila- 
tion. I  recently  read  of  the  efforts  to  destroy  a  newly 
formed  crow-roost,  and  that  the  farmers  of  the  neighbor- 
hood were  divided  into  crowites  and  anti-crowites.  There 
is  no  need  of  coining  a  new  word.  Those  who  defend 
those  birds  are  wise;  those  who  persecute  them,  other- 
wise. 

There  was  nothing  directly  in  my  path  to  explain  the 
presence  of  these  crows,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  but  this  fact 
goes  for  naught.  They  are  long-headed  birds,  and  not 
disposed  to  publish  their  plans  by  remaining  too  close  to 
the  scene  of  proposed  operations;  and  so  far  as  their 
suggestive  silence  is  concerned,  I  long  ago  learned  that  a 
pair  of  crows,  when  nesting,  could  keep  quiet  on  occasion, 
as  when  raiding  upon  the  nest  of  a  sitting  hen  during  her 
absence,  or  when  stealing  corn  from  a  crib  that  was  near 
the  farmer's  house ;  and  when  a  water-melon  patch  is  to 
be  visited,  the  same  caution  is  often  exercised,  although  at 
this  time  the  nesting  is  over.  I  have  knowledge  of  a  pair 
of  crows  that  always  alighted  in  an  adjoining  field,  and 
walked  some  distance  to  the  fence  and  then  crept  under 
it,  thus  reaching  the  melons  in  safety.  A  chance  remark, 
jokingly  made,  led  to  the  discovery  of  this  astonishing 
fact. 

A  few  minutes  later,  as  I  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
a  cold  blast  from  the  north  came  sweeping  through  the 
woods,  and  as  suddenly  the  sky  became  brighter.  Then 
the  western  horizon  grew  brilliant ;  a  bright  band  of  glow- 
ing red  rested  upon  the  distant  tree-tops,  and  in  the  hol- 
lows of  the  wood  near  by  the  scanty  remnants  of  sheltered 


FEBRUARY.  47 

snow-drifts  shone  with  as  soft  a  light,  pink,  pearly,  and 
pure,  as  Paradise.  And  as  I  looked  back  from  my  door 
over  the  wide  meadows,  the  river,  and  that  silent  island 
for  the  last  time  that  day,  I  saw  those  mute,  mysterious 
crows  returning  to  the  old  birch  tree. 

There  is  one  marked  feature  of  February  that  merits 
not  mere  mention  only,  but  the  skill  of  a  ready  writer  to 
do  it  justice.  Often  the  night  gives  promise  of  a  balmy 
day,  and  I  retire  in  hopes  of  greeting  the  welcome  traces 
of  a  spring-like  morning ;  but,  however  early  I  may  be 
abroad,  the  birds  are  sure  to  be  astir  before  me.  While 
darkness  still  lingers  on  the  wooded  hill  I  reach  the 
meadows,  only  to  find  them  all  mist  and  music.  The 
wakeful  tits  call  from  the  towering  pines,  the  sparrows 
twitter  from  the  dripping  shrubs.  Through  the  thick  air 
wing  the  cawing  crows,  and  restless  redbirds  whistle 
through  the  gloom. 

And  while  I  stand  listening,  there  comes,  borne  upon 
the  soft  south  wind,  a  faint,  tinkling  note  that  thrills  me 
more  than  all  other  sounds.  It  can  not  be  mistaken  for  any 
other,  and  I  know  that  the  redwings  are  on  the  way.  What- 
ever the  time  of  year,  there  are  joyful  experiences  in  store 
for  every  rambler,  but  few  that  are  more  entrancing  than 
to  greet  the  crimson-shouldered  blackbirds  when  they 
come  in  full  force  to  the  long-deserted  meadows.  It  is 
true  there  have  been  straggling  birds  both  seen  and  heard 
all  through  the  winter,  but  now  through  their  numbers 
we  have  sweet  assurance  that  the  season's  severity  is  well- 
nigh  over. 

It  matters  not  that  seldom,  if  ever,  do  these  large  flocks 
come  to  stay.  Enough  to  know  that  their  sharp  eyes  have 
detected  some  sign  of  spring.  The  fierce  north  winds 
send  them  hurrying  back  all  too  soon,  but  from  now 
until  April,  as  the  wind  varies,  they  drift  to  and  fro. 


48  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

Just  where  they  linger  when  the  frost-king  rages,  I  do 
not  know,  but  it  can  not  be  afar  off.  It  is  but  a  few 
hours  after  the  south  wind  comes  again  that  they  re- 
appear, and 

"  The  meadows  all  bespattered  with  melody." 

The  weather,  as  we  have  seen,  has  much  to  do  with 
both  the  frogs  and  blackbirds,  and  indeed  with  nearly  all 
of  active  life  in  February ;  but  the  bleakness  of  January 
does  not  hold  everywhere,  however  arctic  the  world  may 
appear  to  the  careless  observer.  Brushing  aside  the  dead 
leaves  upon  the  hill-side,  that  dainty  flower,  the  pale  pink 
spring  beauty,  proved  to  be  in  bloom.  For  long  its  hope- 
ful buds  had  been  waiting  for  yet  a  little  warmer  sun- 
shine, and  now,  sheltered  by  the  crisp  oak  leaves  from 
every  chilling  blast,  while  yet  the  ice  arched  the  meadow 
brooks  and  snow-drifts  lingered  in  the  upland  fields,  they 
stealthily  opened  to  the  cheerful  outlook,  as  though  listen- 
ing, as  I  was,  to  the  songs  of  many  birds. 

What  then  does  it  matter  that  the  frogs  fail  us  at 
times,  as  they  did  in  the  memorable  winter  of  '88  ?  The 
birds  and  blossoms  did  not,  and  before  the  February  moon 
had  waxed  and  waned  we  had  promise  that  the  reign  of 
winter  was  well-nigh  over — that  the  beginning  of  the  end 
was  here. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MARCH. 

BY  the  first  of  March,  and  often  earlier,  the  world  is  all 
agog  concerning  signs  of  spring.  The  welcome  accorded 
winter  during  the  holidays  is  no  longer  extended  to  the 
remaining  snow-storms,  and  we  meet  with  a  frown  the  last 
cold  wave  of  the  season. 

When  the  outdoor  world  is  ignored — as  is  so  often  the 
case — and  the  village  newspaper  becomes  one's  only  source 
of  information,  the  impression  obtains  that  veritable  signs 
of  spring  are  thick  as  the  clustered  stars  of  heaven.  But 

Hast  thou,  0  Spring !  some  flawless,  quick-read  sign, 
Outspeeding  thine  own  steps,  to  herald  thee  ? 

Possibly  this  belief  in  signs  arises  from  the  fact  that 
taking  any  average  village  such  as  lies  at  the  elbow  of 
every  one  who  lives  outside  a  city's  walls,  and  we  shall  find 
that  about  the  middle  of  February  half  the  adults  of,  we 
will  say,  Crankville  become  weather  prophets,  and  the  rest 
of  the  community  are  willing  listeners,  if  not  steadfast 
believers.  Not  one  of  the  latter  but  has  been  periodically 
deceived  since  he  first  pinned  his  faith  on  the  prophet's 
assertions ;  yet  not  one  of  them  appears  to  know  this  very 
damaging  fact.  Indeed,  it  would  never  have  been  discov- 
ered had  not  a  diarist  gone  to  their  benighted  village  to 
live,  and  he  it  is  who  has  made  the  writer  acquainted  with 
the  facts. 

4 


50  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOOMS. 

Crankville,  of  course,  has  another  name,  or  I  should 
never  have  dared  to  pen  these  opening  sentences. 

After  the  middle  of  the  month  of  February  not  a 
Crankville  frog  dare  croak  nor  wasp  creep  from  the  barn, 
sheltered  maple  bud  dare  swell  or  daffodil  look  upward, 
but  straightway  the  prophets  are  moved  to  look  their 
wisest  and  proclaim  that  winter  is  over,  and  point  to  the 
poor  animal  or  plant  as  their  authority  for  the  statement. 
The  gulled  listeners,  all  hopeful  that  what  they  heard  is 
true,  dutifully  salaam  the  prophets,  and  Crankville  is 
happy.  Biting  frosts,  deep  snows,  howling  winter  storms 
follow  within  a  week.  The  earlier  proclamations  of  the 
weather  prophets  are  forgotten,  and  when  the  skies  clear 
and  the  warm  sun  cheers  the  impatient  animals  and  plants 
again,  the  same  predictions  are  again  made  and  trustfully 
received,  and  so  the  farce  continues  until  the  spring  really 
comes. 

Turning  our  backs  now  on  these  innocent  villagers,  let 
us  take  up  the  subject  more  soberly,  and  see  if  we  can  find 
any  flawless,  quick-read  sign  of  spring. 

Stay !  There  is  one  sign  of  spring,  not  uncommon  to 
February,  and  very  characteristic  of  March.  I  refer  to  the 
public  sales  of  those  who — from  necessity  or  choice — "  are 
about  to  relinquish  farming,"  as  the  posters  inform  us. 
April  1  being  "moving  day,"  during  the  previous  six 
weeks  these  vendues  usually  come  off — vandoo  sales,  as  my 
neighbors  call  them ;  and  not  a  farmer  but  finds  it  con- 
venient to  attend,  for  he  not  only  meets  his  friends  but 
secretly  cherishes  the  hope  that  he  may  "  pick  up  a  bar- , 
gain."  The  queer  folk  of  a  neighborhood,  too,  that 
never  appear  in  public  except  upon  such  an  occasion  and 
at  funerals,  are  out  in  full  force.  A  vendue,  in  fact,  is  as 
attractive  to  cranks  as  is  honey  to  a  fly.  Partly  to  study 
these  odd  characters,  and  more  that  I  might  purchase 
some  old  furniture,  I  have  been  attending  sales.  But  aside 


MARCH.  51 

from  either  purpose,  there  is  occasionally  the  opportunity 
of  studying  one  phase  at  least  of  early  colonial  life  well 
worthy  of  attention.  When  there  is  a  considerable  offer- 
ing of  household  goods,  one  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  past 
more  vivid  than  any  mere  description  of  the  historian. 
Some  rickety  chair,  tarnished  andirons,  battered  pewter, 
a  string  of  shoe-buckles,  warped  and  worm-eaten  books — 
the  outpourings  of  a  dusty  garret  and  a  damp  cellar — an 
omnium  gatherum  that  has  been  two  centuries  in  growing. 
Think  of  such  a  display  brought  again  to  the  sunlight ! 
The  imagination  must  indeed  be  sluggish  that  can  not  by 
such  aid  recall  the  earnest  folk  who  settled  in  the  wilder- 
ness. 

All  such  sales  as  these  are  worth  a  day's  attendance, 
even  though  you  dine  on  peanuts  and  that  mysterious 
compound,  a  sutler's  oyster  stew.  But  be  not  too  eager 
to  bid.  To  purchase  what  you  really  wish  and  nothing 
else  ;  to  get  for  a  dime  what  is  really  worth  a  dollar — this, 
I  now  believe,  is  one  of  the  fine  arts ;  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, one  of  the  lost  arts. 

My  last  attendance  proved  so  unsatisfactory,  if  not 
worse,  that  I  have  declared  my  intention  of  ignoring  ven- 
dues  in  the  future.  I  was  tempted  by  the  wording  of  the 
poster,  and,  in  spite  of  the  bad  roads  and  detestable 
weather,  gave  half  a  day  to  colonial  furniture  and  all  the 
belongings  of  a  well-appointed  house  of  those  rare  old 
days.  Other  and  more  enthusiastic  lovers  of  such  things 
were  also  there,  and  I  always  bid  in  vain.  By  dimes  and  dol- 
lars every  desired  object  went  just  out  of  reach.  I  felt  a 
little  sore  at  my  ill  luck,  and,  fool  that  I  was,  determined 
not  to  return  home  empty-handed.  I  have  wondered 
since  if  the  auctioneer  read  my  thoughts.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  I  stood  by  the  remaining  heaps  of  worthless  refuse 
cunningly  packed  in  broken  basins  and  sieve-like  milk- 
pans.  I  saw  no  gem  that  had  been  inadvertently  cast 


52  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

before  swine,  and  my  purchase,  if  I  made  any,  must  be 
some  farming  utensil,  I  thought,  and  I  remained  by  the 
rubbish  only  out  of  curiosity  to  see  if  the  scattered  cranks 
would  now  come  to  the  fore  as  purchasers.  Unfortunate 
curiosity ! 

After  waiting  impatiently  for  a  bid  and  getting  but  a 
penny  as  a  starter,  the  auctioneer  suddenly  eyed  me  so 
searchingly  that  my  head  bobbed  in  spite  of  me,  and  I 
was  announced  the  buyer  of  a  brown  jug  for  a  nickel.  Now 
I  have  never  had  need  for  a  brown  jug.  But  I  was  not  to 
be  caught  again,  I  inwardly  vowed,  and  braced  my  head 
against  a  tall  chest  of  drawers,  so  that  if  the  searching  eye 
of  that  wicked  auctioneer  singled  me  out  I  could  resolutely 
turn  my  face  toward  the  ceiling.  This  scheme  availed 
me  nothing,  for  that  upward  glance  was  too  pronounced, 
and  taken  as  legal  evidence  of  assent,  and  I  was  saddled 
with  a  panful  of  bladeless  knives  and  tineless  forks.  Now 
I  was  half  angry,  and  turned  my  back  upon  the  auctioneer. 
"  Don't  go,"  he  screamed,  and  as  I  turned  to  declare  that 
I  would,  I  became  the  bewildered  owner  of  a  startling 
array  of  globular,  capacious,  aged,  if  not  antique  crockery, 
yellow,  blue,  and  white.  This  last  decision  of  the  fiendish 
auctioneer  provoked  an  audible  smile  throughout  the 
crowd  in  which  I  could  not  join ;  for  had  I  not  come  to 
see  cranks,  and,  by  helplessly  buying  all  the  rubbish,  was 
crowned  the  champion  crank  for  so  doing!  I  have  no 
longer  a  kindly  feeling  toward  vendues. 

"While  a  plant  or  an  animal  remains,  there  will  doubt- 
less be  coupled  with  it  some  sign  of  the  season — either 
the  time  of  its  arrival  or  its  general  character.  Its  value 
need  not  be  discussed.  So  far  as  spring  plants  are  con- 
cerned, there  is  a  host  of  them  that  sleep  throughout  the 
winter  "  with  one  eye  open,"  and  stretch  themselves,  re- 
gardless of  the  almanac,  if  chance  favors  them  with  sun- 


MARCH.  53 

shine  and  a  shelter  from  the  winds.  There  lives  no  country 
boy  so  unobservant  as  not  to  know  this,  yet  such  plants 
are  pointed  at  with  great  glee  by  the  victims  of  the  mania 
for  seasonal  prophecy.  And  the  unthinking  audience 
shout  "  Spring  is  coming,"  for  they  have  seen  with  their 
own  eyes  the  evidence.  Have  they  ?  In  January  the  same 
plant  life  was  equally  prominent,  but  then  the  weather 
prophets  had  not  been  moved  to  speak,  so  it  all  passed  for 
nothing. 

In  localities  of  a  higher  grade  of  intelligence  than 
Crankville,  the  observant  people,  curious  in  such  matters 
but  not  bigotedly  confident,  generally  watch  the  birds 
more  closely  than  any  other  form  of  life,  and  judge  of  an 
early  or  late  spring  by  their  migratory  movements.  This 
is  not  a  safe  guide  by  any  means.  A  carefully  kept  record 
covering  a  decade  will  show  that  birds  are  very  frequently 
deceived  by  premature  spring-like  weather.  Jack  Frost 
is  the  only  boy  who  has  scattered  salt  on  birds'  tails  and 
so  caught  them.  He  it  is  who  has  dashed  snow  so  freely 
about  in  April  that  the  summer  birds  have  to  admit  them- 
selves his  prisoners. 

I  have  gathered  a  host  of  sayings  referring  to  birds 
and  the  weather,  and  have  tested  them  all.  Often  they 
hold  good,  frequently  they  do  not;  and  the  weather 
prophet  is  always  cunning  enough  to  see  with  a  blind  eye 
only  when  the  facts  contradict  him.  I  well  remember 
pointing  to  a  flock  of  wild  geese  as  they  wended  their  way 
northward  early  in  February.  "  Winter  is  about  over," 
my  companion  told  me.  But  we  happened  to  have  five 
weeks  of  arctic  weather  after  that,  and  I  twitted  him  about 
his  prediction.  "  They  must  have  been  goin'  over  without 
honkin',"  he  said ;  "  that  makes  a  difference,  you  know." 
I  did  not  know  it,  and  do  not  know  it  now,  and  never  will 
know  it,  for  it  is  not  true  ;  but  what  are  we  to  do  ?  If  I 
tell  the  average  Crankville  weather  prophet  he  is  a  pre- 


54:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

varicator  (if  he  knows  the  meaning  of  the  word),  he  will 
resent  it  forcibly,  and  that  is  unpleasant. 

The  character  of  the  winter  is  by  many  assumed  to  have 
much  to  do  with  the  early  or  tardy  coming  of  spring. 
This  is  so  reasonable  on  the  face  of  it  that  one  listens 
hopefully  as  it  is  explained  that  the  average  of  cold  is 
about  the  same  each  year,  and  if  the  three  months  of  win- 
ter proper  are  steadily  frigid,  then  March  will  be  spring- 
like in  fact  as  well  as  name.  Alas !  those  deadly  statistics 
confront  us ;  and  March  has  often  followed  so  closely  in 
winter's  footsteps  that  the  lengthening  days  are  our  only 
hope  that  spring  will  ever  come. 

As  is  my  wont,  I  let  not  a  day  go  by  without  some 
glimpse  of  out  of  doors,  and  more  often  I  am  rambling 
while  the  day  lasts ;  and  wherever  I  go  I  find  hopeful 
plants,  brave  animals,  and  mark  the  skyward  route  of 
hardy  northward  migrants. 

These  may  be  called  signs  of  an  early  spring,  if  you 
will.  In  proportion  as  we  long  for  that  goodly  season  we 
are  tempted  to  so  look  upon  them.  But  is  there  not  a 
more  rational  view  ?  After  all,  are  these  plants  and  ani- 
mals not  the  same  as  us  in  this  respect  ?  Like  us,  they 
are  impatient  for  the  winter  to  be  gone.  They  lend  a 
willing  ear  to  every  murmur  of  the  south  wind ;  they  wel- 
come the  embrace  of  every  ray  of  sunshine.  This,  and 
nothing  more.  Were  they  blessed  with  memory,  do  you 
think  they  would  not  accuse  the  weather  of  being  fickle, 
and  would  these  plants  and  animals  not  resent  the  charge 
of  passing  as  "  signs  "  ? 

Hast  thou,  O  Spring,  some  flawless,  quick-read  sign  ? 

We  ask  of  her  in  vain.  She  has  never  deigned  to  reply, 
and  leaves  us  to  choose  between  ignorance  as  to  the  times 
of  her  coming  or  belittle  ourselves  by  listening  to  the  inan- 
ities of  the  weather  prophets  of  Crankville  and  elsewhere. 


MARCH.  55 

But  let  us  consider  the  year's  third  month  without 
reference  to  the  libelous  insinuation  that  it  ever  intends 
to  be  interpreted  in  a  prophetic  sense.  Probably  no  month 
is  so  distinctly  sui  generis.  The  Indians  called  it  Chwdme 
gischucJi,  the  Shad  Moon,  and  the  name  is  still  applicable. 
Our  swarthy  predecessors  in  this  river  valley  were  enthu- 
siastic fish-eaters,  and  they  had  better  and  bigger  fish  than 
any  but  the  very  best  of  what  are  captured  now.  The 
shell-heaps  tell  the  story,  for  nothing  so  delicate  but  in 
these  kindly  beds  of  ashes  has  been  faithfully  preserved. 
This,  of  course,  has  been  denied,  and  the  world  assured 
that  fish-bones  are  perishable.  Eeally !  and  so  the  bone 
implements  in  our  museums  are  all  frauds!  But  men- 
dacious anonymities  can  not  alter  the  facts.  Shad  for- 
merly were  larger  as  a  rule  than  the  usual  "  run  "  of  them 
to-day,  but  happily  they  are  still  large  enough  to  rejoice 
the  rich,  and  plenty  enough  that  all  may  feast. 

The  river  is  this  month's  favorite  highway.  The  up- 
land winds  are  never  so  keen  as  those  that  rush  counter 
to  the  incoming  tide  and  make  a  choppy,  white-capped 
sea.  The  shivering  fishermen  hold  it  bad  luck  then,  for 
the  shad  are  stayed,  and  water-hauls,  though  a  common 
experience  of  all  mankind,  are  never  submitted  to  with  a 
good  grace. 

The  attractions  of  the  fisheries  established  years  ago  by 
our  great-grandfathers  have  well-nigh  disappeared.  Now 
it  is  a  mere  matter  of  business ;  then  it  was  one  equally 
of  pleasure — a  combination  of  play  and  profit.  The  la- 
bor of  the  farm  was  lightened  by  the  anticipation  of 
an  hour  with  the  net  and  a  feast  at  breakfast  the  day  fol- 
lowing. 

With  what  excitement  the  net  was  gradually  drawn  to 
the  shore,  and  how  eager  was  every  lad  to  land  the  great 
silvery-sided  fish  that  now  leaped  in  terror  above  the 
water !  How  lustily  the  men  cheered  when  a  successful 


56  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

haul  was  made,  and  with  what  impatience  this  exultant 
shout  was  waited  for  by  the  anxious  housewives  who  stood 
at  the  open  doors,  with  hands  curled  back  of  their  ears 
that  they  might  be  sure  to  catch  the  welcome  sound  that 
told  of  the  men's  success  1 

The  site  of  the  old  fishery  remains ;  a  bit  of  one  old 
net  is  preserved ;  the  double  door  of  the  old  kitchen  that 
faced  the  river  is  still  swinging,  and  above  it — where  it  has 
rested  for  more  than  seventy  years — is  a  rusty  sturgeon 
spear ;  but  of  the  happy  folk  who  lived  here,  that  drew 
their  nets  in  these  waters  and  deftly  speared  the  floun- 
dering sturgeon,  now  not  one  remains.  There  is  not  left 
one  link  between  the  closing  years  of  the  last  century  and 
this  prosy,  artificial  year  of  1888. 

Those  of  to-day  may  smile  if  they  will,  and  prefer  to 
buy  what  fish  they  need ;  but  the  world  lost  something, 
however  much  it  may  have  gained,  when  many  a  feature 
of  more  primitive  times  was  swallowed  up  in  the  customs 
of  to-day.  And  this  trivial  matter  of  a  shad  for  tea  is  one 
of  them.  "  Catch  your  shad  at  5  and  eat  it  at  7."  This 
was  the  long-established  rule  of  one  old  farm-house  not 
far  away,  and  no  skill  of  modern  cookery  can  improve 
upon  the  right  royal  satisfaction  of  such  a  feast. 

The  mid-river  alone  retains  the  wildness  of  primeval 
days,  the  shores  being  all  too  likely  to  be  strewed  with  the 
slops  of  cities.  No  growth  of  splatter-dock  so  rank  as  to 
hide  that  ubiquitous  horror,  a  rusty  tomato  can.  Even  in 
the  remotest  nooks,  where  I  fancied  myself  the  first  man 
to  enter  since  Indian  days,  I  have  found  this  relic  of  some 
recent  feast. 

Unless  you  are  in  a  substantial  bateau,  no  little  skill 
is  required  to  baffle  the  waves  when  the  March  winds 
blow,  for  a  mile-wide  stream  gives  them  full  play,  and 
many  a  white-cap  peeps  above  the  gunwales.  But  you 


MARCH.  57 

have  nature  without  man's  interference  now,  and  the 
gulls,  the  divers,  and  fish-hawks  are  royal  company. 

Neither  the  gull  nor  the  fish-hawk  seems  so  active  and 
quick- winged  when  here,  far  off  from  the  ocean,  as  when 
at  or  near  the  sea.  The  latter  does  not  come  until  late  in 
the  month,  and  only  then  if  the  water  is  high,  herring 
abundant,  and  the  meadows  with  at  least  a  remnant  of  a 
freshet.  It  is  not  until  April  that  they  are  a  fixed  feature 
of  the  landscape.  Like  many  other  of  our  large  birds, 
fish-hawks  are  not  so  abundant  now  as  even  half  a  century 
ago,  although  the  struggle  for  existence  is  something  less 
severe  than  when  their  arch-enemy,  the  bald  eagle,  was 
comparatively  common.  They  here  have  a  broad  field  to 
all  appearances  quite  to  themselves,  and  why  it  is  so 
sparsely  occupied  is  determined  not  readily,  if  at  all.  It 
is  hard  to  believe  that  the  supply  of  fish  has  appreciably 
decreased ;  and  certainly  there  is  no  lack  of  suitable  and 
safe  nesting  sites.  As  in  all  cases  of  like  perplexity,  I 
have  gone  to  the  old  folks,  except  such  as  vegetate  in 
towns,  and  sought  from  them  an  explanation.  I  have 
never  been  turned  away  unanswered;  but,  alas!  though 
it  be  contemptible  to  admit  it,  I  must  say  I  never  returned 
home  enlightened.  Vague  theory  reigns  rampant  when 
new  subjects  are  broached  to  the  unobservant. 

I  have  said  that  fish-hawks  were  a  fixed  feature  of  the 
landscape  here.  I  limit  the  plural  to  a  single  pair,  and 
perhaps  because  there  are  but  two  in  the  neighborhood, 
it  is  that  they  differ  in  many  ways  from  their  kind  that 
throng  the  sea-coast.  Often  have  I  watched  a  single  one, 
as  it  sailed  over  the  weedy  fields,  an  hour  at  a  time,  quar- 
tering the  ground  as  closely  as  any  mousing  harrier.  Is 
the  fish-hawk,  at  such  a  time,  in  search  of  inland  prey  ? 
The  appearances  are  certainly  against  them,  and  I  have 
known  farmers  to  go  so  far  as  to  insist  that  no  discrimi- 
nation should  be  made  between  them  and  the  true  buzzards 


58  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

and  falcons  that  destroy  poultry.  Argument  is  useless  in 
such  a  case.  In  fact,  I  invariably  get  the  worst  of  it. 
"  Why,"  the  farmer  asks,  "  do  they  not  stay  on  the  river 
or  the  meadows  ? "  I  can  not  say.  "  I  can  tell  you, 
though,"  he  continues,  with  emphasis,  "  that  I  know  when 
a  man's  fishing  and  when  he's  hunting,  and  its  much  the 
same  thing  with  the  birds.  They  don't  go  to  a  field  to 
catch  fish,  and  they're  after  something,  that's  certain. 
Delaware  herring  may  not  suit  their  fancy,  but  they  can't 
vary  their  diet  with  my  chickens." 

Dr.  Brewer  states  that  he  never  knew  an  instance  of 
these  birds  attacking  birds  or  small  mammals,  and  the 
strange  fact  that  they  fancy  the  upland  fields  to  such  an  ex- 
tent as  to  spend  much  time  upon  or  over  them  may  have 
no  significance.  Toads  and  frogs  may  possibly  be  eaten  by 
them,  but  both  are  more  abundant  in  the  wet  meadows. 
That  they  will  eat  them,  however,  as  well  as  other  animal 
food,  is  proved  by  such  as  have  been  held  in  captivity ; 
and  further,  as  having  a  slight  bearing  upon  the  subject, 
I  may  mention  the  fact  that  an  old  fisherman  has  as- 
sured me  that  he  had  seen  them  eat  dead  herring 
and  chub  that  had  been  tossed  from  the  shad-nets  and 
were  lying  upon  the  shore  near  the  water's  edge.  This 
contradicts  all  statements  of  their  feeding  habits  that 
I  find ;  but  I  can  hardly  believe .  that  the  man  was  mis- 
taken. 

Although  differing  so  widely  in  all  its  habits,  the  gull 
is  another  feature  of  the  river  and  meadows  in  March  of 
which  I  could  say  much ;  but  let  us  consider  them  when 
on  the  meadows.  Every  gull-like  trait  is  often  gone,  and 
as  two  or  three  stand  among  the  hassocks  of  the  mucky 
meadow  they  are  sure  to  be  taken  for  my  neighbor's 
geese.  In  such  a  case '  there  can  be  no  doubt,  I  think, 
but  that  something  attractive  in  the  way  of  food  draws 
them  hither.  They  often  wander  to  a  considerable  dis- 


MARCH.  59 

tance  from  open  water,  and  only  become  noisy  when  they 
are  frightened,  and  take  wing. 

The  black-headed  galls  have  recently  visited  the  mead- 
ows during  March  freshets,  and  these  were  much  more 
tame  than  the  other  species,  which  ordinarily  stays 
close  by  the  river.  In  1887,  they  even  sailed  over  the 
upland  fields  as  though,  like  fish-hawks,  they  would  at 
least  be  glad  to  find  some  novelty  in  the  way  of  food, 
even  if  they  did  not  expect  it. 

It  was  amusing  to  see  with  what  vehemence  the  crows 
protested  against  this  invasion  of  their  territory.  They 
chased  the  gulls  incessantly,  and  scolded  with  a  harshness 
suggestive  of  the  most  direful  imprecations;  but  all  in 
vain.  The  gulls  were  bent  upon  making  these  overland 
explorations,  and  make  them  they  did.  At  times  a  num- 
ber of  crows  came  together  in  the  trees  and  discussed  the 
situation  with  less  noise,  but  yet  in  no  uncertain  manner. 
It  was  to  me  a  most  suggestive  sight  to  watch  a  crow  as  he 
stepped  out  to  some  commanding  position  and  harangued 
his  fellows.  This,  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say,  more  than 
one  crow  did,  and  that  there  could  be  no  misinterpretation 
on  my  part  is  evident  from  the  fact  that  at  times,  and  for 
a  moment  only,  the  audience  uttered  a  single  word — shall 
I  call  it  ? — of  approval ;  a  hearty  "  That's  so,"  such  as  you 
hear  upon  the  streets  among  crowds  of  much  less  brainy 
bipeds.  Then  away,  in  a  body,  they  would  fly  and  chase 
the  scattered  gulls  that  sailed  over  the  fields.  But  it  all 
mattered  not,  and  the  visitors  only  left  when  they  saw  fit. 

I  am  sure  that  during  one  whole  week  I  never  saw  a 
gull  dip  down  to  the  ground  and  pick  up  any  article  of 
food,  and  very  generally  they  flew  at  a  much  greater  ele- 
vation above  the  fields  than  they  usually  do  above  the 
water.  What  food  they  got  must  have  been  gathered  dur- 
ing brief  visits  to  the  river,  or  at  night  when  they  roosted, 
so  I  was  told,  upon  the  water. 


60  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

It  is  a  little  surprising  that  the  Indians  did  not  call 
March  the  windy  moon,  for  the  fitful  blasts  that  characterize 
fully  one  half  of  its  days  could  not  have  passed  unheeded, 
although  the  country  then  was  heavily  forested. 

I  have  lately  learned  to  love  these  blustering  March 
mornings,  particularly  when  they  do  not  bluster ;  for  the 
north  wind  is  happily  often  held  in  abeyance,  and  at  no  time 
can  it  sweep  the  sunny  slopes  that  are  already  green  with 
expectant  buds.  After  all,  it  is  but  a  question  of  standing 
on  this  or  that  side  of  a  tree,  whether  it  is  spring  or  winter. 
A  grand  old  chestnut  hard  by  has  had  green  grass  at  its 
roots  since  Christmas,  and  at  the  same  time  snow  and  ice 
were  banked  upon  the  wrinkled  north  side  of  its  trunk. 

But  granting  all  this,  why  call  March  mornings  match- 
less ?  Meet  almost  whomsoever  you  may,  and  he  will  de- 
ride the  opinion  that  they  can  be  mentioned  except  to 
condemn  them.  Nevertheless,  I  claim  that  they  have 
features  unknown  to  the  other  months,  and  while  ma- 
ligned by  the  many,  are  not  without  merit  to  the  few — 
that  happy  few  who  delight  in  nature's  harmless  intoxi- 
cant, pure  air.  Perhaps  it  is  that  the  atmosphere  is  doubly 
charged  with  that  subtle  quality,  ozone,  that  now  for  a 
whole  month  stimulates  every  sense ;  but  whatever  it  may 
be,  there  is  an  all-pervading  influence  in  the  clear  air  of 
a  wild  March  morning  that  stirs  us  to  livelier  action; 
something  far  more  potent  than  the  mere  thought  that  a 
long  winter  draws  to  a  close.  For  years,  I  admit,  I  hon- 
estly hated ;  now,  as  honestly,  I  love  these  matchless  March 
mornings. 

That  emphasis  of  action  which  we  admire  in  mankind 
because  indicative  of  their  own  faith  in  their  work,  char- 
acterizes every  phenomenon  in  March,  and  calls  forth  my 
admiration, notwithstanding  the  marked  rudeness  of  a  gusty 
wind  tends  somewhat  to  disgust.  But  here  I  am  mani- 
festly unfair,  for  the  cutting  blasts  are  not  unheralded ; 


MARCH.  61 

and  forewarned  we  are  expected  to  be  forearmed.  So  stick 
closely  to  the  sunny  side  of  some  stout  tree  and  view  the 
airy  battle  from  afar. 

The  sky  is  of  a  deeper  blue  than  during  the  winter, 
but  not  until  to-day  have  the  scattered  clouds  so  constantly 
chased  their  shadows  across  the  meadows.  Fleecy  frag- 
ments of  some  distant  storm-cloud,  the  wind  has  caught 
them  up  and  now  whirls  them  swiftly  toward  the  sea.  Be- 
yond its  reach  myself,  the  impelling  power  is  quite  for- 
gotten, and  something  more  than  lifeless  mist  is  speeding 
gleefully  through  space,  ever  at  their  heels,  but  never  capt- 
uring their  own  earth-sweeping  shadows. 

Such  days  are  sure  to  rouse  to  liveliest  pitch  the  ener- 
gies of  all  our  winter  birds,  and  none  hug  the  sheltered 
slopes  so  closely  as  in  months  gone  by.  Even  the  tireless 
hawks  are  moved,  and,  breaking  the  circles  over  which  they 
have  sailed  for  hours,  dash,  with  wild  screaming,  down 
the  fitful  wind. 

The  bird  world's  lesser  lights  are  no  less  active.  At 
last  the  meadow-larks  are  moved  to  sing.  For  long  they 
have  threaded  their  silent  way  along  tortuous  paths  in  the 
dead  and  tangled  grass ;  now  they  rejoice,  with  full  hearts, 
in  the  open  secret  of  spring  at  hand. 

Where  the  old  bridge  shudders  in  the  blast,  as  the 
winds  sweep  the  troubled  waters  of  the  cheerless  creek, 
the  confident  peewee  never  loses  faith,  and  morning,  noon, 
and  night,  repeats  his  cheery  call.  He  has  come  to  stay, 
and  seldom  does  the  severest  weather  cause  him  to  repent. 
I  have  heard  him  singing  when  the  creek  was  ice-bound 
and  the  ground  covered  deeply  with  snow. 

From  where  I  stood  to-day,  there  was  clustered  a  rank 
growth  of  seedling  beeches,  with  here  and  there  a  more 
spreading  growth  of  alder.  A  happy  group  of  foxy 
finches,  flitting  through  this  pygmy  forest,  for  hours  made 
merry ;  and  however  dismal  the  day  or  desolate  the  world 


62  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

may  appear,  the  music  of  these  birds  will  chase  the  gloom 
away. 

Most  unfortunately  it  is  only  for  a  short  time  that  we 
have  these  princely  sparrows  when  at  their  best,  for  day 
after  day  will  often  pass  when  they  are  either  silent  or 
only  most  monotonously  chirp.  So  it  was  when  I  last  saw 
them;  every  bird  seemed  given  to  meditation,  and  flew 
with  reluctance  when  I  drew  too  near ;  but  to-day,  their 
clear,  flute-like  voices  drowned  all  other  songs.  Every 
note  of  this  bird  is  a  marvel  of  purity,  and  their  variety 
greater  than  the  repertoire  of  any  other  of  their  tribe  ;  ex- 
celling, in  this  respect,  even  the  song-sparrow.  Nor  is 
the  song  of  every  individual  the  same.  They  so  far  differ 
that  when  several  birds  are  singing  at  one  time  it  gives 
the  impression  of  a  concert  by  various  songsters,  rather 
than  the  united  efforts  of  a  number  of  the  same  species. 

As  April  approaches,  the  songs  of  these  birds  are  more 
continued,  especially  if  it  is  clear  and  warm  at  noon.  In- 
deed, April  sunshine  is  required  to  ripen  the  music  of 
their  dainty  throats.  Then  it  is  well  worth  one's  while  to 
linger  about  the  brier-hidden  angles  of  some  old  worm 
fence,  for  then,  at  such  time,  the  melody  is  next  in  merit 
to  the  early  June-day  efforts  of  the  thrush  and  grosbeak. 

Foxy  finches  advocate  squatter  sovereignty  and  are 
impatient  of  intrusion,  where  they  have  power  to  resist. 
The  blundering  sparrows  of  humbler  grade  are  given 
prompt  notice  to  quit,  and  usually  take  a  gentle  hint  with- 
out show  of  protest.  I  have  always  wished  that  these  pas- 
serine nobles  would  become  permanent  settlers,  for  bird- 
f ul  as  are  our  pleasant  places,  there  would  be  room  for 
them.  As  it  is,  their  sojourn  suggests  but  a  jolly  hunter's 
camp,  ringing  the  day  long  with  so  much  gayety  that  the 
echo  of  the  songs  lingers  about  the  spot  long  after  they 
have  gone. 

Much  might  be  written  of  the  long  list  of  singing 


0*-   THE 


MARCH.  63 

birds  that  like  them  make  glad  the  waste  places  during 
March,  but  let  us  turn  now  to  another  and  far  from 
spring-like  phase  of  this  much-maligned  month.  It  is 
one  of  historic  storms. 

I  gathered  pink  and  white  blossoms  of  the  spring 
beauty  on  the  10th  of  the  present  month,  and  on  the  12th 
they  were  under  the  drifting  snow  of  what  will  pass  into 
history  as  the  great  storm  of  March,  1888. 

Where  the  humble  flowers  dotted  the  sprouting  grass 
there  now  rests  a  grand  curl-crested  drift,  twenty  feet 
in  height  ;  and  where  I  at  times  sought  shelter  from  occa- 
sional gusts  of  chilly  wind,  that  same  day,  now  lies  an  up- 
rooted chestnut  with  its  storm-  tossed  branches  strewed  over 
the  meadow.  Borne  by  the  hurricane,  the  sand-like  snow 
has  formed  itself  into  one  long,  tortuous  mound  over  the 
smilax  thickets;  glittering  and  roseate  in  the  morning 
sun,  cold  and  pale  as  death  in  the  feeble  moonlight. 
The  wondering,  unhoused  birds  flitting  over  it  by  day 
lessen,  in  part,  the  present  dreariness  of  the  scene  ;  but 
when  the  faint  shadow  of  a  wandering  owl  passed  over  it 
at  night  the  spot  was  desolate  beyond  all  power  of  words 
to  describe. 

Twice  I  attempted  out  of  doors  to  watch  the  progress 
of  the  storm,  but  soon  learned  the  danger  of  the  attempt. 
It  is  marvelous,  now,  when  all  is  so  calm,  to  think  that  it 
was  unsafe  to  be  but  a  few  rods  from  the  house.  The 
meager  landscape  changed  with  wonderful  rapidity,  and 
snowdrifts  that  I  found  a  shelter  from  the  wind  a  moment 
before  were  often  moved  bodily,  or  so  it  seemed,  and 
threatened  to  overwhelm  me.  I  can  liken  the  roar  of  the 
wind  among  the  trees  to  nothing  less  stupendous  than  Ni- 
agara's cataract,  but  varying  in  this,  that  each  tree  gave 
forth  a  different  sound.  Among  the  tall,  mast-like 
branches  of  three  enormous  beeches,  the  noise  was  so 
shrill  and  piercing  that  it  drowned  at  times  the  deeper- 


(J4  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

toned  roaring  and  moaning  among  the  oaks  near  by. 
Except  the  larger  trees,  there  was  little  else  to  be  seen, 
the  fields  and  meadows  alike  being  enveloped  in  a  misty 
cloud-mass  of  whirling  snow  that  I  fancied  the  smoke  of 
an  icy  fire. 

The  wild  weather  gave  me  no  little  concern  with  re- 
gard to  the  old  trees  near  my  house.  I  was  curious,  too, 
to  know  which  species  was  suffering  most  from  loss  of 
branches  and  general  mutilation.  The  snapping  and 
crashing  heard  above  the  wind's  roaring  suggested  univer- 
sal destruction.  Judging  from  past  wind-storms,  I  looked 
for  the  leveling  of  the  fourteen  pines  near  the  house,  or 
at  least  that  the  trunks  alone  would  remain  standing ;  but 
these  unaccountably  escaped  all  serious  injury,  and  are 
still  the  same  sorry-looking  irregularities  they  have  been 
for  the  last  twenty  years. 

It  is  not  a  little  strange  that  the  long  rows  of  white 
pines  planted  by  Joseph  Bonaparte  in  his  park  near  Bor- 
dentown,  New  Jersey,  more  than  sixty  years  ago,  have 
escaped  serious  breakage  from  wind,  incrusting  snow,  and 
ice-incased  twigs — the  three  causes  that  have,  separately 
and  combinedly,  effected  the  uncrowning  and  disfiguring 
of  the  pines  at  home,  which  are  no  more  exposed  and 
scarcely  three  miles  away.  Do  not  these  trees  generally 
require  planting  in  clusters,  so  as  to  be  self-protecting,  or 
to  be  intimately  associated  with  other  trees  ?  A  lone  pine 
is  very  pretty  and  poetical,  but  hereabout  it  is  as  uncer- 
tain as  the  average  white  man. 

But  to  return  to  the  forest  in  the  storm.  Of  a  hundred* 
or  more  large  trees — oaks,  chestnuts,  birches,  gums,  liq- 
uidambars,  persimmons,  catalpas,  beeches,  and  sassafras — 
occupying  some  three  acres  of  southward  sloping  hillside, 
but  one,  a  large  chestnut,  was  uprooted,  and  this  was  lifted 
bodily  from  the  ground  and  carried  several  feet  from 
where  it  had  stood.  The  others  were  twisted ;  branches 


MARCH.  65 

were  interlocked,  and  several  so  shaken  and  wormed  about 
that  the  closely  wrapping  poison  ivy  was  detached — an  oc- 
currence I  should  never  have  dreamed  could  have  taken 
place.  Where  branches  were  broken,  they  were,  as  a  rule, 
detached  from  the  trunk  of  the  tree  as  though  seized  at 
their  extremities  and  twisted  off.  Although  the  wind 
remained  in  one  direction,  it  evidently  became  a  whirl- 
wind among  the  tree-tops,  as  shown  by  the  direction  of 
fall  of  several  large  limbs.  One  large  branch  of  an  enor- 
mous beech  was  broken  off,  but  still  holds  by  long  cables 
of  twisted  strips  of  bark,  as  though  the  storm  had  re- 
pented and  tried  to  repair  the  damage  by  tying  it  on 
again. 

Of  the  several  species  of  trees  I  have  mentioned,  no 
two  are  of  like  toughness  in  the  texture  of  their  wood,  and 
in  this  storm  the  weaker  and  more  brittle  kinds  did  not 
suffer  as  much  as  the  tough  old  oaks.  Nor  were  the  de- 
tached branches  worm-eaten,  and  so  abnormally  weak.  I 
was  confronted  with  contradictions  whichever  way  I 
turned.  Associate  these  with  wind  having  a  velocity  of 
fifty-four  miles  an  hour  and  air  full  of  sand-like  snow, 
and  realize  how  easily  one  could  become  bewildered. 

In  the  more  exposed  upland  fields  not  a  tree  suffered, 
the  big  sassafras,  sixty-two  feet  in  height,  not  losing  even 
a  twig.  Stranger  still,  the  scattered  beeches  and  white 
oaks  that  have  retained  their  withered  leaves  all  winter 
hold  them  still.  In  short,  the  home  woods  suffered  very 
little,  and  what  damage  there  is,  occurred  where  I  least 
expected  to  find  it.  Where  the  exposure  was  greatest, 
there  every  tree  successfully  weathered  one  of  the  severest 
storms  on  record.  The  shrubbery,  seedling  oaks  and 
beeches,  puny  cedars,  and  trim  little  junipers  were  bent  to 
the  ground  and  remained  prostrate  for  three  or  four  days. 
The  snow  has  now  melted,  and  all  are  again  erect ;  but 
when  I  bent  some  of  them  to-day  as  flatly  as  did  the 

5 


66  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

snow  and  wind,  they  cracked  and  were  destroyed.  Was  it 
that  the  gradual  pressure  of  the  snow  prevented  the  disas- 
ter that  my  more  sudden  bending  caused  ? 

While  I  rejoiced  at  having  my  woodland  still  intact, 
there  was  one  aggravating  feature  about  it  all.  I  antici- 
pated a  harvest  of  dead  limbs  for  my  andirons ;  but  they 
too  withstood  the  tempest.  To-day  they  looked  down  at 
me  with  a  tantalizing  "  no-you-don't "  expression  that 
robbed  me  of  half  the  pleasure  of  seeing  one  old  black 
alder  still  with  a  few  of  its  crimson  berries  resting  upon 
a  dazzling  drift  of  unstained  snow. 

I  was  concerned,  too,  about  the  many  birds  that  had 
sung  so  suggestively  of  spring  on  this  same  wooded  slope 
two  days  before  the  storm.  They  surely  had  had  no 
warning  of  the  danger  at  hand,  and  now  I  had  occasional 
glimpses  of  many  as  they  were  borne  by  me  with  fearful 
velocity.  They  seemed  at  times  struggling  to  rise  above 
the  trees,  as  though  aware  of  the  danger  of  being  dashed 
Against  them.  Snow-birds,  pine-finches,  tree-sparrows, 
bluebirds,  robins,  song-sparrows,  and  the  crows  were  the 
several  kinds  that  I  could  positively  identify;  and  all 
were  equally  unable  to  find  a  resting-place. 

Once  there  was  a  decided  lull,  lasting  perhaps  for  five 
minutes,  and  in  that  brief  time  the  courage  of  a  few  tem- 
pest-tossed bluebirds  seemed  to  return.  Though  the  air 
was  still  thick  with  snow,  and  every  branch  of  every  tree 
in  motion,  I  heard  these  brave  birds  sing !  Only  a  few 
most  melancholy  notes  they  uttered,  it  is  true,  but  full  of 
suggestion.  Songsters  they  that  merit  a  poem  in  their 
honor!  I  first  caught  a  glimpse  of  them  among  the 
sweeping  branches  of  the  pines,  and  then  saw  them  reach, 
after  much  effort,  the  snow-laden  cedars,  but  it  was  not  to 
find  rest  and  shelter  therein.  A  moment  later  the  wind 
with  redoubled  fury  struck  the  trees  and  they  were  lost  in 
an  avalanche.  One  enormous  snowbank  toppled  over  and 


MARCH.  67 

buried  them  beneath  it.  That  the  bluebirds  should  have 
escaped  is  strange  indeed.  The  broad  trunk  of  a  sturdy 
oak  saved  me  from  the  tempest's  fury,  but  I  dared  stay  no- 
longer,  and  while  struggling  through  the  ever-shifting 
drifts  I  once  more  caught  sight  of  these  same  birds,  as  they 
were  dashed  toward  the  meadows,  and  above  the  roar  of 
the  wind  I  heard,  as  I  believe,  the  bluebird's  song. 

I  have  spoken  of  foxy  sparrows  as  chiefest  of  this 
month's  musicians;  a  word  now  concerning  another  of 
our  finches.  It  has  not  been  long  since  an  ornithologist 
wrote,  "  The  identity  of  the  grass-finch  is  doubtful,"  adding 
that  it  had  not  been  determined  to  be  a  winter  resident  in 
New  Jersey.  No?  Well,  I  identified  it  as  such  twenty 
years  ago,  and  there  is  not  a  farmer  in  the  county  that 
does  not  know  it — the  "  rut-runner,"  as  he  calls  it — as  a 
winter  bird.  My  critic  adds,  too,  ornithologists  would 
be  grateful  if  I  killed  a  score  of  innocents  for  their 
benefit.  Well,  I  won't !  And,  again,  another  versed  in 
bird  lore  suggests  that  my  winter  birds  were  Ipswich  spar- 
rows, which  probably  never  set  foot  within  a  hundred 
miles  of  my  fields.  Really,  is  it  safe  to  call  a  crow  a 
crow  ?  There  need  be  no  mistaking  this  species  for  any 
other,  for  all  who  know  our  birds  at  all  are  familiar  with 
this  ever-abundant  tenant  of  our  fields.  I  have  called  it 
elsewhere  the  most  "  resident "  of  all  our  smaller  birds ; 
even  going  so  far  as  to  suggest  that  it  spent  its  whole  life 
in  the  field  in  which  it  was  hatched.  This  may  be  an  ex- 
aggeration, but  is  not  very  far  from  the  exact  truth.  In 
the  winter  of  1887-'88,  I  saw  them  in  December  and  Jan- 
uary, and  two  days  after  the  great  storm  of  March  12-14, 
1888,  found  one  that  had  succumbed  to  the  cold  and 
snow.  There  was  no  necessity  to  refer  to  the  text-books, 
but  I  did  so  out  of  idle  curiosity,  and,  as  I  knew  would  be 
the  case,  it  proved  to  be  a  "  true,"  and  not  a  sham,  grass- 
finch,  the  same  that  Burroughs  has  made  famous,  the  bird 


68  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

by  others  called  bay- winged  bunting,  and  christened  by 
the  scientific  students  of  birds  Pooccetes  gramineus. 

So  much  for  the  critics ;  now  for  the  bird  itself.  A 
robin,  three  grass-finches,  three  bluebirds,  and  a  pair  of 
song-sparrows  took  refuge  in  the  barn,  one  large  mow  of 
which  was  empty.  Here  they  escaped  the  snow  and 
wind,  it  is  true,  but  the  cold  was,  I  thought,  even  more 
intense  than  out  of  doors.  I  fully  realized,  for  the  first 
time,  the  meaning  of  the  familiar  expression  "  as  cold  as 
a  barn,"  for  I  gave  some  time  to  watching  these  tempest- 
driven  birds  that  had  here  found  shelter.  In  habit,  these 
nine  individuals  might  be  grouped  as  the  singers  and  the 
silent,  for  while  six  were  quite  happy  in  the  thought  of 
danger  escaped  and  at  times  feebly  lisped  a  hymn  of 
thankfulness,  the  grass-finches  were  silent  even  to  chirp- 
ing, as  though  doubtful  if  barn-floors  were  much,  if  any, 
preferable  to  death.  The  ground-frequenting  habits  clung 
to  them  closely.  They  sped  like  mice  over  the  ground 
floor,  and  only  when  hard  pressed  would  they  fly  to  the 
mow,  and  then  did  not  long  remain. 

Heretofore  it  has  been  my  experience  to  have  the  grass 
and  slightly  ridged  surface  of  even  our  smoothest  fields 
obscure  the  bird  as  it  voluntarily  wandered  about,  and 
every  occasion  would  prove  but  a  series  of  rapidly  recur- 
ring glimpses  only ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  bird's 
hurried  motions  when  trying  to  keep  just  ahead  of  car- 
riage wheels  have  really  no  significance  as  to  its  method. 
The  barn-floor,  therefore,  afforded  excellent  opportunity  • 
for  observation,  and  I  was  forcibly  reminded  of  the  Euro- 
pean skylarks  in  the  aviary  of  a  friend. 

What  struck  me  as  a  curious  feature  of  the  bird's 
habits,  was  that  of  spreading  the  tail  when  moving  lei- 
surely across  the  floor,  as  well  as  when  forced  to  fly.  In 
the  latter  case,  there  is  an  explanation  of  the  habit,  sug- 
gested and  well  supported  by  J.  E.  Todd.  It  is  to  the 


MARCH.  69 

effect  that  "  when  general  color  is  inconspicuous  "  birds 
may  have  some  directive  coloration,  as  "  colors  upon  parts 
of  the  body  which  may  be  hidden  during  rest,  but  capa- 
ble of  display  automatically  either  during  flight,  at  the 
moment  of  stopping,  or  during  a  calling  cry."  Now  the 
grass-finch  can  not  fly  without  showing  the  white  feathers 
in  his  tail.  It  is  a  habit  beyond  his  control,  and  when  the 
outside  white  feathers  are  removed,  the  tail  during  flight 
spreads  just  the  same.  The  habit  is,  of  course,  valueless 
when  the  bird  is  on  the  ground,  for  there  it  can  not  be 
seen ;  hence  my  surprise  when  I  saw  the  movement  while 
the  birds  stood  on  the  barn-floor.  It  was  in  each  case  ac- 
companied with  a  little  trembling,  a  slight  vibratory  move- 
ment, suggestive  of  a  desire  to  shake  dust  or  water  from 
the  feathers,  yet  they  were  not  soiled  by  either. 

The  single  night  these  grass-finches  remained  in  the 
building  they  roosted  upon  the  bare  floor,  and  so  closely 
were  they  huddled  together  that  at  three  paces  distant,  by 
lantern-light,  they  appeared  as  one  bird. 

The  other  birds  were  as  uninteresting  as  so  many 
caged  ones,  and  seemed  only  anxious  to  get  abroad  again. 
I  felt  no  sorrow  when  they  quitted  the  barn,  but  would 
gladly  have  had  the  grass-finches  remain,  for  they  were 
not  only  instructive  but  had  wit  enough  to  see  that  I 
meant  them  no  harm. 

This  seemingly  trite  remark  can  not  be  held  to  go  for 
nothing.  It  really  means  a  good  deal ;  namely,  that  birds 
can  distinguish  individuals  among  men,  and,  may  I  add  ? 
can  judge  of  human  character.  The  former  is  true  be- 
yond question ;  and  if  the  latter  is  not,  how  is  it  that  some 
people  can  never  gain  the  friendship  of  a  caged  bird  ? 
With  a  friend,  I  recently  visited  an  aviary  in  town.  Upon 
the  finger  of  its  owner  a  siskin  frequently  alighted,  but 
could  not  be  approached  by  my  friend  or  myself.  The 
bird  had  been  taught  nothing,  but  through  accumulated 


70  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

experiences  had  learned  that  it  was  perfectly  safe  to  do  so. 
The  Carolina  wren  that  allowed  me  to  stroke  it  while  on 
its  nest  was  suspicious  of  every  other  human  being  that  it 
saw,  yet  several  tried  by  every  means  to  accomplish  that 
which  I  could  do. 

We  must  not,  however,  base  too  much  upon  such  ex- 
treme cases  as  this.  Probably  there  are  in  existence  an  ex- 
ceedingly small  number  of  birds  so  constituted  mentally 
that  they  can  acquire  such  a  degree  of  confidence,  and  far 
fewer  human  beings  that  can  win  it.  And  I  am  reminded 
here  of  a  really  amiable  man  who  says  he  dare  not 
walk  near  the  curbstone  when  in  town,  as  every  horse  he 
passes  tries  to  bite  him.  When  confiding  birds  and  men 
who  truly  love  them  do  happen  to  meet,  the  result  is 
interesting.  Think  of  Bradford  Torrey  playing  with  a 
vireo  as  it  sat  upon  its  nest !  And  what  language  can  be 
found  adequate  to  describe  the  villainy  of  the  fiend  who 
stole  the  nest ;  for  stolen  it  was ! 

All  things  considered,  it  is  fortunate  for  the  wild  birds 
and  for  the  non-collecting  naturalist  that  the  birds  are 
wild ;  but  in  most  cases,  with  a  little  tact,  one  can  inspire 
a  lesser  but  sufficient  degree  of  confidence,  and  so  be  en- 
abled to  witness  much  that  would  otherwise  be  hidden. 
I  can  well  recall  one  instance  bearing  upon  this.  On  the 
edge  of  a  hill-side  path,  a  pair  of  cat-birds  had  their  nest. 
Twice  daily,  a  long  row  of  cows  filed  singly  by,  and  then 
the  more  dangerous  small  boy.  But  the  latter  proved 
humane,  and  while  he  looked,  he  never  handled  either 
the  nest  or  eggs.  The  result  was  that  the  birds,  long  be- 
fore their  young  were  old  enough  to  leave  the  nest,  paid 
no  more  attention  to  the  boy  than  to  the  cows,  and  never 
stirred,  although  often  they  were  feeding  the  brood,  as  he 
passed  by.  As  he  put  it :  "  If  I  could  not  have  picked  them 
up,  I  could  have  put  salt  on  their  tails."  The  interesting 
feature  of  this  case  lies  in  the  fact  that  neither  I  nor  my 


MARCH.  71 

cousin,  who  also  tried,  could  pass  by  in  the  same  manner,  be- 
hind the  cows,  without  frightening  the  birds.  I  do  not  see 
how  their  actions  can  be  interpreted,  except  by  the  sugges- 
tion that  they  distinguished  one  boy  from  all  other  persons. 

In  the  case  of  the  pair  of  peewees  that  every  season 
have  a  nest  on  one  of  the  pillars  of  my  porch,  the  birds  are 
somewhat  timid  while  the  nest  is  being  constructed,  less 
so  when  the  eggs  are  laid,  and  quite  indifferent  to  us  all 
when  the  young  are  hatched.  In  this  case,  strangers  are 
not  distinguished;  but  when  some  one  comes  upon  the 
porch  and  hammers  away  with  the  old  brass  knocker,  then 
the  peewees  think  it  time  to  leave. 

I  am  free  to  say  this  does  not  often  happen,  but  is 
so  frequent  that  if  the  same  peewees  come  year  after 
year,  they  should  by  this  time  have  got  used  to  the  thun- 
der of  the  ponderous  brass ;  but  they  have  not,  and  here 
is  a  fact  to  be  scored  against  my  view  of  permanent  mating 
occurring  among  these  birds. 

It  is  in  March,  if  the  wind  has  died  away,  that  we 
notice  so  often  after  sundown  flickering  lurid  patches  of 
dull  red  light  scattered  along  the  horizon.  It  excites  no 
comment  now.  We  do  not  wonder,  at  this  time  of  year, 
whose  house  or  barn  it  is  that  has  caught  fire — the  farmer 
is  burning  brush. 

This  effectual  method  of  cleaning  up  the  ground  is  a 
prominent  phase  of  farm  life  in  March,  and  is  an  occur- 
rence in  which  every  lover  of  out  of  doors  can  take  de- 
light. The  day-time  preliminaries  are  not  attractive. 
Kaking  dry  leaves  while  the  wind  blows  is  simply  exasper- 
ating; and  I  have  often  wondered  that  the  farm-hands 
had  any  patience  left.  At  last  the  piles  are  ready,  and 
fairly  secure  by  the  weighting  of  branches  cut  from  the 
old  apple  trees.  The  night  is  still ;  the  word  is  given ; 
the  torch  applied. 


72  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

That  fire  is  fascinating,  no  one  will  question ;  but  few 
people,  however,  seem  aware  of  the  peculiarly  attractive 
feature  of  a  fierce  blaze  at  night,  when  coupled  with  the 
feeling  that,  furious  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  nevertheless 
under  control.  Of  course,  the  moment  that  control  is 
lost,  all  pleasure  vanishes  and  anxiety,  if  not  terror,  over- 
comes all  other  emotion.  Happily,  this  seldom  happens, 
when  it  is  but  the  burning  of  brush. 

I  was  present  recently  when  a  pitchy  black  night  was 
chosen  for  the  fun.  The  impenetrable  darkness  beyond  a 
little  space,  the  fantastic  shapes  and  shadows  where  the 
red  light  fell,  the  sharp  crackling  and  the  angry  hiss, 
held  me  spell-bound.  While  I  felt  no  temptation  to 
plunge  into  the  fire,  I  can  imagine,  I  think,  why  it  is  that 
so  many  animals,  and  particularly  birds,  are  overcome  by 
the  leaping  flames.  I  continually  found  myself  drawn 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  fire  and  anxious  to  explore 
with  my  cane  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  glowing  mass. 
Not  a  blackened  twig  that  bid  fair  to  escape  but  I  de- 
lighted to  throw  into  the  fiercest  flames ;  my  own  appetite 
for  witnessing  destruction  becoming  as  insatiable  as  that 
of  the  fire  itself  for  fuel.  The  warmth,  too,  of  the  sur- 
rounding air  was  exhilarating,  rousing  every  energy  to 
quicker  action,  instead  of  drugging  them  with  the  nox- 
ious gases  of  an  indoor  stove. 

Something  of  this  is  applicable  to  birds,  or  so  k  has 
appeared  when  I  have  seen  them  drop  helpless  into  the 
fire.  Once,  when  a  saw-mill  burned,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
birds  of  the  county  collected  as  a  cloud  and  rained  upon 
the  flames.  Not  one  appeared  to  fly  deliberately  into 
them;  and  so  far  as  I  was  able,  under  very  favorable 
circumstances,  to  determine,  no  large  birds,  as  hawks  or 
owls,  were  among  the  victims. 

When  a  field  is  suddenly  lighted  up  at  night,  the 
small  birds  in  the  vicinity  are  not  simply  excited  by  the 


MARCH.  73 

strange  aspect  of  a  flickering  fragment  of  noon-day  sud- 
denly appearing  in  their  midst ;  they  are  intoxicated  by 
the  novelty.  The  warmth,  too,  rouses  their  energies,  as  it 
did  mine,  and  curiosity  brings  them  to  the  fore.  Alas ! 
that  they  have  not  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  fire.  It  is 
as  sunlight  and  as  sun- warmth,  and  its  source  as  distant 
as  the  light  of  day.  They  play  about  it  in  perfect  safety, 
and  only  fall  when  they  attempt  to  pass  over  it. 

At  last  the  flames  lose  strength;  the  glowing  coals 
grow  dull;  black  and  gray  ashes  seam  the  ruddy  mass, 
and  darkness,  creeping  from  the  outer  world,  broods  over 
all.  The  aspect  is  over,  the  excitement  passed,  but  the 
memory  of  an  unalloyed  joy  is  not  ours.  It  saddens  one 
to  think  that  the  sparrow  that  delighted  us  with  music 
throughout  the  day  may  have  fallen  into  the  flames. 

I  have  said  that  by  March  1  the  world  is  interested  in 
every  supposed  sign  of  spring ;  and  all  through  the  month 
the  discussion  of  each  sign's  merit  has  been  kept  up,  not 
only  in  the  parlor,  but  in  the  kitchen,  the  tavern  bar-room, 
and  the  village  store.  Then,  too,  there  have  been  hosts 
of  meteorological  screedlets  in  the  local  papers.  Boiling 
all  this  wisdom  down,  the  residuum  is — ignorance. 

If  ice,  snow,  unremitting  cold,  fewer  mild  days  than 
February  boasts,  and  every  variety  of  chilling  wind,  go  to 
make  up  our  winter,  then  count  in  March.  But  in  spite 
of  every  arctic  element,  there  are  occasional  crumbs  of 
comfort  for  the  botanist,  if  none  for  folk  less  favored. 
Over  his  countenance  there  occasionally  flits  a  gleam  of 
satisfaction,  and  the  winds  are  tempered  when,  with  a 
sprig  of  arbutus  in  his  button-hole,  he  returns  from  an 
outing. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

APRIL. 

HOWEVER  desirable  it  may  be  to  feel  that  confidence 
can  be  safely  placed  in  many  mundane  matters,  and  in 
some,  if  not  all  humanity,  the  undoubted  fact  that  we  can 
not  do  so  in  the  matter  of  April  days  is  a  condition  not  with- 
out merit.  The  systematic  rambler  has  not  grown  gray 
before  he  learns  that  the  blissful  uncertainty  of  April  is 
really  a  source  of  a  certain  joy;  for  there  is  abundant 
warrant  that  every  day  will  be  full  enough,  whether  clear 
or  cloudy ;  whether  dripping  with  intermittent  showers, 
or  white,  even,  with  the  last  snow  of  the  season.  And 
here  let  me  say  that  April  snow-storms  are  not  such  novel- 
ties as  has  been  intimated.  However  it  may  be  in  adjoin- 
ing States,  or  even  in  adjoining  counties,  here,  where  the  ter- 
race faces  southward  and  where  we  have  less  winter  than  do 
others  not  beyond  the  horizon,  I  have  waded  knee-deep  in 
snow,  and  plucked,  while  so  doing,  dogwood  blossoms, 
white  as  the  drift  that  formed  their  unwelcome  background. 

Such  short-lived  snows  have  no  ill  effect  upon  vegeta- 
tion, and  leave  the  ground  as  green  and  blossom-starred 
as  it  was  before  the  storm.  Indeed,' there  are  dainty  April 
blossoms  that  seem  to  enjoy  these  belated  storms,  and  prove 
no  mean  rivals,  in  purity  of  color,  to  the  snow  through 
which  they  peep.  At  such  a  time,  as  the  thermometer 
will  show,  the  ground  at  the  plant's  roots  and  the  air  that 
bathes  its  delicate  branches,  if  they  reach  above  the  snow, 


APRIL.  75 

are  not  chilled,  and  the  intermediate,  encroaching  rim  of 
winter  produces  no  ill  effect.  The  buds  on  every  tree  con- 
tinue to  swell,  as  might  be  expected ;  but  creeping  plants, 
as  arbutus,  are  not  blighted,  for  from  beneath  the  snow  I 
have  gathered  fully  opened  blossoms.  Such  occurrences 
must  not  be  misinterpreted;  they  do  not  indicate  that 
arbutus  is  a  lover  of  cold  weather,  but  that  it  has  strength 
to  withstand  it  when  it  comes.  It  has  always  appeared  to 
me  that  a  white  frost  was  more  destructive  than  a  black 
one.  A  cold,  dry  atmosphere,  even  when  thin  ice  forms, 
has  appeared  not  to  affect  wild  flowers ;  while  many  blos- 
soms withered  when  the  sunshine  melted  from  them  crys- 
tals of  frost. 

It  would  be  hard  to  determine,  in  years,  how  long  has 
April  been  the  uncertain  moon  it  now  is :  doubtless  for 
tens  of  centuries,  and  the  vegetation  that  has  become 
established  through  natural  agencies  is  not  easily  discon- 
certed. It  appears  to  discount  all  probable  contingencies, 
and  the  not  infrequent  snows  that  March  left  as  its  spite- 
ful legacy  to  the  woods  and  fields  are  accepted  with  better 
grace  than  is  generally  supposed. 

I  have  often  wished  that  good  old  Zeisberger  had  been 
more  explicit,  and  not  merely  stated  that  the  Delaware 
Indians  called  April  Quitauweuheivi  giscliucli,  the  Spring 
Moon.  The  word  has  a  far  different  meaning,  a  fuller 
one  than  that,  but  just  what,  I  have  never  learned.  To 
say  it  is  a  spring  month  in  New  Jersey  is  as  unsatisfactory 
as  to  say  that  April  is  derived  from  "  Aperio — I  open."  It 
is  true  that,  by  actual  count,  more  buds  open  then  than  in 
March,  but  so  gradual  is  the  difference,  and  so  uncertain, 
withal,  that  a  better  name  could  readily  be  found.  Per- 
haps the  Indians  meant,  "  moon  of  preparation."  I  call  it 
the  month  of  expectation.  As  a  whole,  it  is  a  horrid 
hotch-potch,  but  seldom  is  it  without  days  when  Nature 
becomes  ecstatic. 


76  DAYS   OUT  OF  DOORS. 

But  before  attempting  the  history  of  days  that  proved 
worthy  of  a  record,  what  of  that  feature  of  the  month 
with  which  all  are  familiar,  at  least  by  hearsay — its  famous 
showers  ?  These  figure  with  more  or  less  prominence  in 
the  literature  of  the  past  five  centuries  from  the  time 
when  Chaucer  sang 

Whanne  that  April  with  his  shouers  sote, 

The  droughte  of  March  hath  perced  to  the  rote ; 

to  the  mechanical  rhymes  of  village  weeklies  concerning  the 
pretty  lie  that  April  showers  bring  May  flowers.  Let  us  de- 
termine, then,  in  what  respect  a  short-lived  rain  of  this 
month  differs  from  one  in  May  or  June.  As  in  many  other 
matters  meteorological,  the  imagination  is  allowed  a  more 
than  scientific  sway,  and  peculiarities  claimed  to  exist  are 
much  more  fanciful  than  real.  In  this  case,  the  rain-drops 
are  no  less  round  or  damp  than  usual,  or  more  so.  But  the 
country  has  an  aspect  now  that  is  quite  its  own,  and  this 
has  much  to  do,  though  not  all,  with  typical  April  showers, 
which  are  always  accompanied  by  sunshine ;  rains  of  a  few 
minutes'  duration,  from  clouds  that  fleck  but  not  obscure 
the  sky,  and  offer  opportunity,  if  not  to  walk  between 
the  drops,  at  least  to  dodge  their  sources,  and  skip  from 
cloud-capped  to  clear  country.  I  remember  one  such 
shower  when  the  east  side  of  the  turnpike  was  dusty, 
while  the  west  was  channeled  with  tiny  rivulets. 

We  must  not  look  for  April  showers  too  soon;  the 
rigor  of  March  may  linger  in  the  air ;  nor  too  late,  for 
May  is  often  unreasonably  impatient,  and  jostles  the  elbow 
of  retiring  April.  It  is  during  the  third  week,  as  my 
records  run,  that  the  month  may  best  be  studied — a  week 
when  leaves  are  young,  when  grass  is  green,  when  nature 
teams  with  promise. 

In  the  forest,  the  sunlight  softly  stealing  through  the 
half-grown  leaves  gilds  the  dark  mosses,  warms  the  cold 


APRIL.  77 

lichens,  kisses  the  purple  orchids,  makes  glad  the  gloomiest 
crannies  of  the  wood.  Scarcely  a  cave  so  dark,  or  ravine 
so  deep,  but  the  light  reaches  to  its  uttermost  bounds,  and, 
unlike  the  soulless  glare  of  the  midwinter  sun,  is  life- 
inspiring.  There  is  a  subtle  essence  in  an  April  sun  that 
quickens  the  seeming  dead. 

And  while  I  have  stood  wondering  at  this  strange 
resurrective  force,  at  times  almost  led  to  listen  to  the 
bursting  buds  and  steadily  expanding  leaves,  a  veil  is  sud- 
denly drawn  over  the  scene  and  the  light  shadows  fade 
to  nothingness.  Falling  as  gently  as  did  the  sunlight  that 
preceded  it,  come  the  round,  warm  rain-drops  from  a  pass- 
ing cloud.  Gathering  on  the  half-clad  branches  over- 
head, they  find  crooked  channels  down  the  wrinkled  bark, 
poise  upon  the  unrolled  leaves,  globes  of  unrivaled  light, 
or  nestle  in  beds  of  moss,  gems  in  a  marvelous  setting. 
Anon  the  cloud  passes,  and  every  rain-drop  drinks  its  fill  of 
light.  There  is  no  longer  a  flood  of  mellow  sunshine  here, 
but  a  sparkling  light — an  all-pervading  glitter.  And  it  is 
thoroughly  inspiring.  Your  enthusiasm  prompts  you  to 
shout,  if  you  can  not  sing,  and  the  birds  are  always  quickly 
moved  by  it.  From  out  their  hidden  haunts,  in  which 
they  have  sat  silently  while  it  rained,  come  here  and  there 
the  robins,  and,  perching  where  the  world  is  best  in 
view,  extol  the  merits  of  the  unclouded  skies.  Earnest 
Sun-worshipers  they,  that  watch  his  coming  with  impa- 
tient zeal  and  are  ever  first  to  break  the  silence  of  the 
dawn ;  and  all  these  April  days  their  varying  songs  are 
tuneful  records  of. the  changing  sky. 

Does  it  mean  nothing  that  the  robins  always  go  to 
some  commanding  point,  if  not  to  the  very  top  of  the  tree, 
to  sing  ?  Starr  King,  in  one  of  his  admirable  lectures, 
remarks :  "  You  never  surprise  a  dog,  deer,  or  bear  gazing 
with  satisfaction  at  the  loveliness  of  the  meadow,  the  curve 
of  a  river,  or  the  grandeur  of  a  mountain.  They  see  all 


78  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

the  facts  as  an  inventory  could  be  taken  of  them,  but  not 
the  charm  of  color  or  motion  into  which  the  details 
blend."  I  am  not  quite  sure  about  our  mammals,  which 
certainly  have  essentially  prosaic  natures,  but  as  far  as  our 
birds  are  concerned,  I  am  led  to  dispute  the  statement ; 
and  Mr.  King  intended  that  it  should  apply  to  them. 
Does  this  asserted  soul-condition  fit  with  that  love  of  lo- 
cality that  we  know  birds  possess  ?  I  think  not.  And 
have  we  any  right,  as  is  done  by  many,  to  assume  that 
haunts  are  chosen  wholly  with  reference  to  the  food  sup- 
ply ?  If  so,  many  a  birdless  area  should  be  thronging  with 
them  throughout  the  summer.  Why,  if  the  beauty  that 
we  recognize  goes  for  naught  among  birds,  does  the  grass- 
finch  sing  most  sweetly  during  the  few  moments  of  a  brill- 
iant sunset  ?  Time  and  again,  as  I  have  passed  over  the 
upland  fields  at  the  close  of  the  day,  the  sun  has  suddenly 
broken  through  the  cloud-banks  on  the  horizon  and  filled 
the  world  with  crimson  and  golden  light.  In  an  instant 
every  grass-finch  in  the  field  mounts  some  low  shrub  and 
sings  his  sweetest  songs.  Is  this  always  mere  coincidence  ? 
Do  they  not,  rather,  feel  that  same  impulse  which  prompts 
us  to  exclaim,  "  How  beautiful  "  ? 

And  I  can  not  withhold  from  the  falcons  that  I  have 
seen  credit  for  some  nobler  motive,  when  gazing  from  the 
top  of  the  tallest  tree  about,  than  looking-for  a  mouse. 

But  the  typical  April  shower  is  not  the  only  variation 
during  the  month  from  fair-weather  days.  There  are 
other  rains  than  these  deliberate,  partial,  poetical  ones ; 
and  I  never  fail  to  remember  this  latter  fact,  and  am  dis- 
agreeable enough  to  thrust  deadly  statistics  in  the  face  of 
those  who  quote  with  evident  satisfaction  pat  phrases 
about  this  strange  month's  beauties.  The  month  has  its 
charms,  and  an  abundance  of  them,  and  all  try  to  forget 
its  unpleasant  features ;  but  when  I  hear  my  friends  extol 
the  beauty  of  tearful  April,  as  though  the  month  was  a 


APRIL.  79 

fragment  of  paradise  lost,  my  perverse  disposition  asserts 
itself  and  I  quote  from  the  depressing  pages  of  "  Peirce 
on  the  Weather."  Of  one  not  yet  forgotten  April,  he  re- 
cords :  "  A  cold,  boisterous  northwester  .  .  .  made  every- 
thing tremble  and  shiver.  .  .  .  The  blustering  snow-squalls 
which  followed  would  have  been  more  suitable  for  Janu- 
ary. .  .  .  Ice  formed  on  several  nights,  half  an  inch  thick, 
which  destroyed  all  the  buds,  and  almost  every  green 
thing."  Nothing  quite  so  bad  as  this,  lately,  it  is  true ; 
but  what  has  been  may  be ;  and  arbutus  gatherers  that 
had  hung  their  wraps  upon  the  trees,  shivered  as  I  read 
this  and  thought  it  was  growing  cold  again.  I  must  ad- 
mit that  I  enjoyed  their  discomfort ;  and  let  me  ask  what 
is  the  origin  of  that  mental  condition  which  prompts  one 
to  do  these  things  ?  There  is  no  known  animal  ancestor 
from  which  it  could  be  derived. 

A  kindly  disposed  critic  has  suggested  that  I  visit 
"  the  islands  of  the  Niagara  River,  or  even  the  fields  along 
its  shore,"  instead  of  persistently  "  paddling  among  bull- 
frogs on  Big  Bird  Creek."  I  have  been  along  the  shores 
of  the  river  named,  and  lingered  spell-bound  about  the 
falls ;  but  my  experience  was  that  of  my  own  insignifi- 
cance. If  at  home  at  all,  it  is  by  the  unromantic,  quiet 
creeks,  beloved  of  bull-frogs,  tenanted  by  turtles  and 
snakes,  decked  with  unassuming  bloom,  and  graced  by 
the  unpretentious  songs  of  the  sparrows  and  the  wren. 
These,  my  constant  companions  from  my  youth  up,  filled 
my  heart  long  years  ago ;  and  I  stand  in  awe  of  scenes  or 
creatures  more  wonderful  or  mysterious. 

Leaving  a  glorious  flood  upon  the  meadows,  with  its 
untold  wealth  of  suggestiveness,  I  took  my  friendly  critic's 
advice,  choosing  certain  promising  days  of  April,  1887, 
and  sought,  with  some  misgiving,  a  new  pasture.  I  am 
free  to  confess  that  I  long  reveled  in  the  heaped-up 
bounties  of  the  wide  wilderness  into  which  I  plunged. 


80  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

Hurrying  from  town  to  village,  and  skirting  many  a 
piny  wood,  oak  opening,  and  dismal  swamp,  I  reached 
May's  Landing  late  in  the  evening ;  due  south  from  my 
home  a  small  fraction  more  than  a  degree,  and,  by  the 
geologist's  map,  just  sixty  feet  nearer  to  the  ocean's  level. 

The  unremitting  whistle  of  a  caged  cardinal  roused 
me  at  early  dawn,  and,  to  solve  the  all-important  question 
of  the  weather  probabilities,  I  took  my  first  day-time  glance 
at  the  village,  so  far  as  peeping  through  the  slatted  shutter 
would  permit. 

I  found  myself  practically  in  another  world.  Every 
tree  had  a  foreign  look,  although  but  oaks  and  pines  and 
gum  trees,  such  as  I  have  at  home.  In  spite  of  the  botan- 
ists' assertions,  they  were  not  the  same  in  appearance. 
The  soil  and  environment  had  wrought  a  nameless  some- 
thing in  them  that  one  could  see,  yet  not  describe.  Such 
white  and  "  turkey  "  oaks  as  shade  the  village  street  and 
cluster  about  the  churches  and  court-yard  do  not  grow 
in  my  own  neighborhood,  but  recalled  rather  the  tower- 
ing tulip  trees  that  overtop  all  other  growths  upon  the 
wooded  hill-sides  of  my  home. 

The  rambler  wisely  contents  himself  with  moderate 
pleasure,  and  is  soothed  by  the  chipper's  trill  when 
thrushes  fail  to  sing ;  but  still  he  ever  hopes  that  his  for- 
tune may  be  bettered  and  the  silence  broken  by  his  wor- 
shiped favorites.  This  undercurrent  of  desire  for  a  cli- 
macteric experience  holds  good  with  every  feature  of  the 
outdoor  world ;  and  while  I  find  abundant  joy  in  what 
old  trees  are  near  at  hand,  even  if  they  be  not  large,  my 
constant  hope  is  that  every  new  direction  that  I  take  may 
lead  to  others  and  perfect  of  their  kind.  Of  many  spe- 
cies there  are  such  trees,  but  scattered  so  widely  that  but 
one  can  be  seen  each  day ;  and  of  these,  in  numbers,  the 
white  oak  falls  to  the  bottom  of  the  list,  though  first  in 
beauty  of  all  our  forest  trees. 


APRIL.  81 

There  stands  in  the  yard  of  the  Quaker  meeting- 
house, at  Crosswicks,  New  Jersey,  a  perfect  white  oak — a 
tree  that  for  many  miles  around  is  without  a  rival.  At 
the  surface  of  the  ground  the  body  of  this  tree  is  nearly 
twelve  feet  in  diameter,  and  it  tapers  upward  quite 
abruptly  to  its  minimum  cross  measurement  of  five  feet 
six  inches.  At  fourteen  feet  from  the  ground  the 
branches  start,  of  which  some  twenty  go  to  make  a  beau- 
tifully symmetrical  crown,  gracefully  curved  above,  and 
extending  more  than  fifty  feet  in  every  direction  from  the 
trunk.  When  in  full  leaf,  the  tree  casts  a  huge  island  of 
delicious  shade,  and  as  the  old  meeting-house — built  in 
1690 — is  not  so  old  as  the  oak  by  at  least  a  century,  six  or 
seven  generations  of  earnest  worshipers  have  gathered 
weekly  within  the  shadows  cast  by  it. 

There  are  tongues  in  trees,  and  often  have  I  wished 
that  this  one  would  speak  out  in  no  uncertain  way  and 
tell  us  of  the  past;  tell  us  of  the  Indians  that  met  on 
these  pleasant  hills — for  Crosswicks  was  a  great  council- 
ground  three  hundred  years  ago ;  and  tell  us,  too,  of  the 
earnest  folk  who  settled  here  when,  instead  of  a  few 
widely  scattered  oaks,  there  were  boundless  forests  of 
gigantic  trees. 

There  are  still  in  existence  a  few  pages  of  an  old  day- 
book wherein  is  recorded  the  shipping  from  a  point  on  the 
creek  near  by  of  thousands  of  i;  hogshead  staves  of  white 
oaks  "  ;  and,  later,  millions  of  feet  of  hewed  timber  were 
.rafted  from  this  same  place  to  Philadelphia.  It  is  diffi- 
cult, at  this  time,  to  realize  that  within  sight  of  the  old 
meeting-house  was  felled  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
timber  that  supplied  the  market  of  that  great  city. 
Lastly,  came  the  days  of  cord-wood  supplies,  and  this  com- 
pleted the  destruction.  Now,  the  builder  of  a  new  barn 
must  send  hundreds  of  miles  for  timber  stout  enough  for 
its  frame. 

6 


82  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

That  trees  must  be  felled  goes  without  sa}7ing ;  but  it 
is  deplorable  that  the  importance  of  reforesting  our  less 
fertile  tracts  did  not  occur  to  our  grandfathers.  Could  I 
boast  to-day  of  a  few  acres  of  Crosswicks  oaks,  there  is  no 
wealth  that  could  purchase  their  destruction.  It  is  true 
that  extensive  forests  and  modern  civilization  are  incom- 
patible ;  but  not  so  civilization  and  ample  groves.  As  all 
Crosswicks  points  with  pride  to  its  single  oak,  so,  too,  the 
people  of  May's  Landing  may  well  be  proud  of  their  beau- 
tiful village  so  generously  shaded  by  its  splendid  trees. 

As  the  oaks  had  done,  so,  too,  the  many  sour  gums 
or  pepperidge  trees  in  the  village  quickly  attracted  my 
attention.  In  a  general  way  they  were  familiar  enough, 
but  at  the  same  time  bore  their  stamp  of  an  environment 
widely  different  from  that  at  home,  in  holding  aloft, 
among  their  leafless  boughs,  great  clusters  of  pale  green, 
clammy  mistletoe. 

The  seeds  of  this  parasitic  plant,  carried,  it  is  thought, 
by  birds,  had  found  lodgment  on  the  outer  branches  of 
these  trees,  and  at  once  demanded  tribute — a  drain,  as  it 
proves,  upon  the  poor  tree's  treasury.  Slowly,  but  surely, 
the  limbs  become  knobbed,  gnarly,  and  knotted;  then 
wither  and  decay. 

That  the  relentless  stranger  moves  steadily  toward  the 
base  of  the  tree,  as  its  afflicting  presence  works  the  de- 
struction of  its  host,  was  evident  from  the  appearance  of 
many  branches,  yet  it  does  not  appear  that  a  tree  is  ulti- 
mately killed  by  the  plant.  There  were  nineteen  of  these 
gum  trees — all,  save  one,  close  to  the  water's  edge — and  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  bunches  of  mistletoe  were  -grow- 
ing thereon ;  some  of  them  large  enough  to  fill  a  bushel- 
measure. 

This  was  something  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  so 
far  of  passing  interest,  but  it  roused  no  feeling  of  admi- 
ration— seemed,  indeed,  a  miserable  blunder — and  I  was 


APRIL.  83 

glad  to  turn  away  and  gather  nodding  spikes  of  white 
cassandra.  These,  with  the  beautiful  seed-pods  of  the 
stagger  bush  and  needle-like  foliage  of  the  pine  beauty, 
made  for  me  a  novel  nosegay,  which  I  carried  until  fresh 
novelties  paled  their  prettiness. 

Turning  from  the  glistening  sands  of  a  well-worn 
wood-road,  I  threaded  my  way  a  few  rods  between  scrubby 
oaks  and  dwarfed  pines,  and  over  a  carpet  of  tufted  gray- 
green  reindeer  moss,  still  necked  with  the  crimson  berries 
and  bronzed  foliage  of  wintergreen.  What  the  trees 
wanted  in  stateliness  and  height  was  more  than  compen- 
sated for  by  the  luxuriant  growth  of  lichens  that  draped 
their  branches.  The  bearded  giants  of  Florida  were  here 
bearded  dwarfs,  but  no  less  venerable  in  aspect. 

There  were  two  very  distinct  species  of  these  drooping 
lichens,  one  of  which  often  measured  fully  two  feet  in 
length.  The  other  was  but  little  less  vigorous  a  growth, 
and,  though  semi-erect,  was  equally  graceful.  This  one 
bore  aloft  the  daintiest  of  pearl-gray  cups — goblets  that 
flies  might  have  sipped  at,  had  they  not  all  been  empty ; 
yet  many  were  large  enough  to  have  held  a  drop  of  dew. 
Never  before  had  I  seen  the  well-known  forms  growing  so 
luxuriantly.  They  gave  a  misty,  cobwebby  look  to  the 
woods,  as  though  the  spiders  of  the  world  had  held  a  sum- 
mer-long convention. 

Plunging  into  this  tangle,  my  first  thoughts  were  of 
the  animal  life  that  it  must  shelter.  I  listened  for  birds 
to  sing;  there  was  no  sound.  I  scanned  the  nearer 
branches ;  there  was  no  moving  creature.  I  shook  the 
tufted  lichens ;  not  a  bug  crawled  forth.  The  cracking  of 
brittle  twigs  beneath  my  feet  alone  broke  the  silence.  I 
was  in  a  beautiful  yet  lifeless  country. 

Then  came  an  abrupt  change  in  my  surroundings. 
Reaching  higher  ground,  the  crisp,  crackling  mosses  gave 
way  to  fresher  growths,  and  wreath-like  patches  of  glitter- 


84:  DATS   OUT  OF  DOORS. 

ing,  snow-white  sand  made  a  fitting  background  for  the 
delicate  pyxie.  Straightway,  on  seeing  this  plant,  I  forgave 
the  country  for  its  want  of  birds.  It  were  too  great  good 
fortune  to  have  both,  perhaps.  Gray  says  of  it,  "  found  in 
the  sandy  pine  barrens  of  New  Jersey,"  but  call  no  land 
barren  where  the  pyxie  grows.  The  sands  of  an  ancient 
ocean-bed  were  here;  the  murmuring  pines  echoed  the 
long  silent  surf.  The  spot  seemed  less  a  land  than  an 
earthly  monument  to  a  forgotten  sea,  and  over  it  was 
spread  a  mantle  of  richest  green,  starred  with  the  spark- 
ling pyxie.  No  other  blossoms  intruded ;  no  thoughtless 
growths  crowded.  There  they  were  left  to  grow,  in  a  wil- 
derness that  now  was  silent  as  a  tomb,  immortelles  deck- 
ing a  dead  ocean's  grave. 

Call  this  a  "  pine  barren  "  if  you  choose,  wherein  plant 
lovers  may  peep  and  botanize,  but  must  never  hope  to  find 
a  fortune ;  yet  may  it  not  after  all  have  capabilities  men 
now  wot  not  of  ?  Surely  a  cottage  with  pyxie  at  the  door 
were  a'pleasant  place  to  live,  attractive  as  any  garden  of 
roses,  and  more  suggestive  of  content  than  a  lodge  in  a 
garden  of  cucumbers. 

I  longed  for  a  boat,  when  I  turned  my  face  villageward 
to  explore  the  tempting  shores  of  the  river  .that  hurries  by, 
but,  deferring  this  promised  pleasure,  gave  the  remaining 
hours  of  a  crowded  day  to  "  the  pines,"  and  a  mile  or  two 
of  the  creek  that  thridded  them. 

Where  bared  sands'  could  not  boast  a  blade  of  grass  I 
gathered  curious  earth  stars  ;  and  then  pines  in  front,  on 
either  side,  and  pines  that  walled  the  village  from  my  view, 
muttered  and  murmured.  A  home  for  birds  in  abun- 
dance, yet  what  a  beggarly  showing !  Not  until  the  open 
country  immediately  adjoining  the  creek  was  reached  did 
I  hear  a  single  chirp.  A  single  pigeon  woodpecker  had 
ventured  thus  far,  and  twice  I  heard  robins.  Later  a 


APRIL.  85 

warbler  was  seen  and  heard,  but  all  so  indistinctly  as  to 
make  it  unsafe  to  guess  the  species.  I  listened  frequently 
for  the  scream  of  the  blue  jay,  yet  heard  none.  They  had 
wandered  to  fresh  fields,  but  at  times  are  here  in  force. 
At  least,  to  them  is  credited  the  planting  of  the  acorns 
that  spring  up  so  surely  when  the  pines  are  felled.  The 
red  squirrel,  too,  probably  has  a  hand  in  this,  as  it  is  one 
of  the  few  mammals  found  in  this  region  ;  where,  indeed, 
bears  and  deer  are  still  found,  yet  "  small  deer,"  like  mice, 
are  almost  wanting.  It  is  true  I  did  not  see  a  single  squir- 
rel, but  the  nibbled  cones  of  the  pine  told  clearly  of  their 
presence.  I  saw  no  mice,  and  was  told  there  were  none. 
My  admiration  for  pine  woods  lessened  when  I  heard  this. 
Why  it  should  be,  seems  indeed  strange,  and  I  doubt  not 
they  are  indeed  rare.  It  was  a  new  impression  of  wild  life 
that  I  had  not  suspected,  to  find  that  about  my  home,  not 
three  miles  from  a  large  town,  were  always  at  least  half  a 
hundred  birds  and  a  dozen  mammals  that,  for  some  un- 
known reason,  shunned  a  forest  miles  in  extent,  and  far 
away  from  any  considerable  town. 

How  I  longed  to  mingle  the  botany  of  these  barrens  with 
the  wild  life  of  the  fields,  hill-side,  and  meadows  at  home  ! 

Time  permitted  of  but  a  passing  glance  at  the  creek — 
a  pine-woods  stream  here,  but  the  drain  of  a  cedar  swamp 
somewhere  above.  As  I  stood  upon  its  grassy  bank  the 
waters  appeared  like  ink,  except  where  fretted  by  fallen 
trees,  when  they  became  mantled  with  a  delicate  tracery 
of  silvery  bead-like  bubbles. 

I  scanned  the  sunlit  shallows  for  minnows,  but  could 
find  none ;  the  projecting  stumps  and  logs  for  basking 
turtles — there  were  none ;  and  I  remembered  that  not  a 
frog  leaped  into  the  stream  as  I  drew  near.  Yet,  to  my 
ignorant  eyes,  there  is  no  spot  that  seems  better  fitted  for 
all  these  creatures.  Such  experiences  chill  one's  enthu- 
siasm through  and  through. 


88  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

Still  there  was  no  lack  of  beauty.  The  beautiful 
pitcher  plant  was  in  full  leaf,  and  many  a  one  was 
emptied  of  its  water  as  I  hunted  for  the  insects  that  nour- 
ish this  curious  carnivorous  plant.  I  found  none,  nor 
were  the  flower-like  leaves  at  all  sensitive.  Perhaps  they 
were  keeping  Lent  just  then,  and  I  doubt  not  will  feast 
heartily  when  a  cloud  of  mosquitoes  settles  in  the  valley 
of  this  forest  brook. 

I  shall  always  covet  the  hollies  growing  there.  Some 
were  great  pyramids  of  deepest  green,  still  sparkling  with 
myriads  of  red  berries.  These  trees  grow  not  only  with 
branches  so  low  that  the  trunk  is  hidden,  but  with  the 
main  stem  bare  for  several  feet  in  height,  gray  as  a  thrifty 
beech,  and  quite  as  smooth.  On  one  such,  a  curious  lichen 
— the  Grapta  insculpta — had  grown  until  the  tree  ap- 
peared wrapped  in  inscribed  parchment.  Every  letter  of 
every  alphabet  was  well  represented,  and  cuneiform  in- 
scriptions and  runes  were  noticeably  abundant. 

That  this  little  corner  of  "  the  pines  "  teems  with  nov- 
elties I  have  no  doubt ;  that  animal  life  is  really  more 
abundant  than  then  appeared  is  certainly  true,  but  no 
demonstration  of  this  is  possible  during  so  brief  a  visit. 
Could  I  spend  a  year  upon  the  banks  of  that  little  creek  I 
should  have  much  to  tell,  but  to  tarry  for  an  hour  is  of  no 
avail. 

Better  than  to  do  this — my  good-natured  critic  not- 
withstanding— is  to  continue  unto  the  end  paddling  among 
bull-frogs  upon  Big  Bird  Creek.  But  I  hope  to  return 
before  the  summer  ends. 

And  what  of  April  at  home  ?  Alas  !  it  is  rarely  twice 
the  same,  and  describe  it  never  so  cunningly,  a  typical 
"  Spring  Moon  "  would  scarcely  be  recognized.  In  188G, 
the  month  was  hot;  in  1887,  a  curious  mixture  of  all 
other  seasons;  while  that  of  1888  could  boast  of  snow- 


APRIL.  87 

drifts,  relics  of  the  great  storm  of  the  preceding  March  ; 
and  for  four  long  weeks  the  west  wind  had  miles  of  snow- 
clad  country  over  which  to  pass  before  it  reached  us. 
Even  the  resident  birds  grew  tired  of  it  at  last,  and  never 
were  the  hill-side  and  the  meadows  so  silent  as  during  the 
last  days,  save  two,  of  the  month. 

A  friend  had  come  from  Massachusetts  to  see  and  hear 
the  many  warblers  that  pass  by  in  April,  en  route  for  their 
northern  summer  haunts ;  and,  too,  to  hear  such  song- 
birds as  do  not  reach  New  England.  What  folly  on  my 
part  to  have  promised  anything  of  these  same  birds ! 

We  threaded  many  a  tangled  brake, 

Then  traced  the  river's  shore ; 
We  lingered  where  the  marshes  quake, 

We  tramped  the  meadows  o'er  ; 
We  listened  long  for  some  sweet  song 

Of  summer's  tuneful  host ; 
But  never  a  note  from  any  throat, 

Each  silent  as  a  ghost. 

Through  the  lone,  trackless  swamp  we  strayed ; 

Full  many  a  field  we  crossed ; 
The  pathless  bog  our  steps  delayed, 

The  ancient  landmark  lost — 
We  stood  in  vain,  some  fancied  strain 

To  hear ;  alas !  instead, 
Nor  sky  nor  ground  gave  forth  a  sound, 

The  very  air  was  dead. 

Cloud-wrapped  and  sad  so  closed  the  day, 

As  sullen  proved  the  night ; 
The  sun  shed  not  his  parting  ray, 

The  stars  withheld  their  light. 
No  bat  so  bold  to  quit  his  hold, 

Nor  owl  dared  venture  forth  ; 
The  swift  brook  moaned,  the  tall  tree  groaned, 

While  breathed  the  icy  north. 

Six  consecutive  outings,  each  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  day,  yielded  the  poor  showing  of  but  fifty- five  spe- 


83  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

cies ;  and  many  of  these — like  the  crow,  grakle,  and  king- 
fisher, and,  I  may  add,  the  bittern,  which  only  gave  us 
two  thirds  of  a  "  boom  " — scarcely  count  as  birds  at  all,  so 
hopelessly  prosaic  is  their  every  utterance.  But  many, 
although  persistently  silent,  and  several  that  timidly 
broke  the  silence,  were  not  without  interest.  Once,  in  a 
sunny  nook,  among  chestnut  sprouts,  my  companion  and 
I  found  not  only  shelter  from  the  icy  wind,  but  birds 
and  blossoms  in  abundance.  Snowy  toothwort  and  bud- 
ding mandrake — both  notable  growths — quite  covered  the 
ground ;  while  ruby- crowned  wrens  thronged  the  adjoin- 
ing thickets,  active  as  ever,  but  warbling  only  in  a  half- 
hearted way.  Not  once  did  they  sing  out  with  that  wealth 
of  energy  characteristic  of  them  in  their  summer  haunts, 
and  as  they  occasionally  venture  to  do  here  in  New  Jer- 
sey during  mild  winter  days.  From  their  golden-crested 
cousins — that  at  this  time  largely  outnumber  them — they 
can  readily  be  recognized,  even  when  not  seen,  by  their 
more  varied  song,  "  lively,  animated  strains  of  canary-like 
sweetness  and  clearness." 

It  has  recently  been  denied  that  'this  bird  winters  in 
New  Jersey.  Probably  this  impression  arose  from  obser- 
vations made  in  the  northern  hilly  section  of  the  State. 
One  might  as  well  attempt  to  study  the  equator  by  camp- 
ing on  the  shores  of  Baffin's  Bay. 

Because  those  birds  which  we  hoped  to  find  were  not 
here,  the  days  were  not  lost  in  sulking.  There  was  always 
sound  if  not  music,  and  sound  is  always  suggestive.  As 
we  rested  upon  the  soft  cushions  of  well-matted  leaves, 
"the  bee-like  Euryomia  hummed  about  us — a  beetle  of 
which  I  knew  nothing,  having,  if  I  saw  it  at  all,  supposed 
it  to  have  come  directly  from  the  hives  or  a  hollow  tree. 
At  times  the  dead  leaves  rustled  where  song-sparrows  and 
chewinks  scratched  among  them  for  food,  and  at  once 


APRIL.  89 

curiosity  is  roused  to  see  the  birds,  although  their  identity 
is  without  question.  As  we  peer  into  the  thickets,  a  third 
ground-loving  Urd  flits  up  before  us,  a  skulking  hermit 
thrush,  and,  mounting  a  low  branch  of  a  tree,  it  stares 
back  at  us,  with  drooping  wings,  jerking  tail,  and  mute  as 
those  monks  who  are  sworn  to  silence.  When  we  remem- 
ber that  this  same  thrush  is  in  New  England  almost 
without  a  rival  as  a  summer  songster,  it  is  a  standing 
mystery  why  here,  for  several  months,  it  is  so  persistently 
silent.  Indeed,  it  occasionally  nests  in  the  romantic  valley 
of  the  Wissahickon,  not  forty  miles  away,  and  I  am  told, 
even  then  has  been  seldom  heard  to  sing ;  and  the  opinion 
has  also  been  expressed  that  such  nesting  birds  do  not 
compare  at  all  favorably  with  our  splendid  wood  thrush. 
As  we  saw  them  to-day  running  among  the  thousands  of 
nodding  toothwort  blossoms,  they  were  less  attractive 
than  would  have  been  so  many  mice.  But  the  flowers  I 
have  mentioned  never  fail  to  command  attention.  Here 
everything  was  suited  to  their  needs,  and  they  overtopped 
the  violets,  spring  beauty,  bluets,  and  even  crowded  to  ob- 
scure nooks  that  marvel  of  azure  bloom,  grape-hyacinth's 
clustered  bells. 

Hard  by,  the  rank  mandrake  or  May-apple  was  not  only 
beautiful  but  suggestive.  Many  a  plant  was  a  telling  in- 
stance of  indomitable  pluck ;  or,  shall  we  say,  like  many 
a  mortal,  born  to  pitiless  ill-luck.  Before  the  frost  has 
lost  its  hold  upon  the  stout  oak  leaves  that  have  lain  the 
winter  long  upon  the  ground,  the  leaf- wrapped  stalk  of  the 
May-apple,  that  can  be  likened  to  nothing  so  much  as  to 
a  closed  umbrella,  pierces  the  thin  crust.  Many  meet 
with  a  serious  obstacle  to  their  upward  growth  in  the 
leaves  upon  the  ground,  but  their  progress  is  never  wholly 
checked.  Apparently  unable  to  push  it  aside,  the  May- 
apple  pierces  the  dead  leaf,  and  then  lifts  it  up,  often  half 
a,  foot  above  the  ground.  A  decided  victory  seems  at  first 


90  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

to  have  been  gained,  but  the  upward-borne  leaf  has  its 
revenge.  It  is  merely  pierced,  not  torn  asunder,  and 
retaliates  by  holding  the  May-apple  firmly  bound,  and  the 
glory  of  its  growth,  the  outspreading  of  its  umbrella-leaf, 
is  effectually  prevented.  I  think  of  more  than  one  poor 
fellow,  as  I  write,  who  has  an  unyielding  oak  leaf  hope- 
lessly binding  his  powers.  Mr.  Blank,  over  the  way,  is  a 
closed  umbrella. 

Later,  while  strolling  by  a  meadow  pond,  and  my  com- 
panion searching  for  warblers  among  the  scattered  trees 
upon  its  banks,  I  was  startled  by  a  shrill  screaming,  and 
was  astonished  to  see  with  what  energy  an  irate  swallow 
pursued  a  kingfisher.  The  cause  of  the  quarrel  can  only 
be  conjectured,  but  revenge  was  the  evident  impulse  of 
the  offended  bird,  and,  with  a  daring  and  rapidity  of  move- 
ment that  would  put  even  a  wren  to  shame,  it  struck  the 
fleeing  kingfisher  again  and  again,  as  it  darted  among  the 
trees,  screeching  with  terror. 

The  courage  of  a  bird  accomplishes  much,  and  if  all 
our  helpless  species  had  both  quicker  tempers  and  yet  re- 
mained coolly  brave,  their  enemies,  the  falcons,  would 
prove  less  dangerous.  A  little  cunning  would  often  en- 
able the  pursued  warbler  to  outwit  the  hawk,  for  the  latter 
depends  upbn  brute  force. 

We  found  a  few  birds  at  last.  Among  tall  pin-oaks 
in  a  neglected  meadow  were  yellow  red-polled  warblers ; 
restless,  of  course,  as  is  all  their  tribe,  but  silent,  save  to 
those  who  might  be  anxious  to  hear  their  lisping  song. 
By  dint  of  listening,  their  few  weak  notes  were  recognized 
amid  the  twitter  and  chirping  of  swallows  and  sparrows ; 
but  the  result  was  scarcely  worth  the  effort  required  of  us. 
Think  of  following  through  bog,  through  bush,  through 
brake,  through  brier,  to  hear  a  mere  midget  in  yellow- 


APRIL.  91 

brown  feathers  sing  like  a  "  debilitated  chipper  "  !  Such 
was  my  companion's  comparison.  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
have  ever  heard  a  broken-down  chipper  sing ;  but  given 
one  in  good  health,  and  his  tremulous  twitter,  full  of  vim 
as  it  is,  is  music  that  charms.  Heard  first  while  yet  winter 
lingers,  it  is  full  of  spring-tide  suggestiveness,  and  shames 
our  want  of  faith. 

Very  different  were  the  earnest  notes  of  a  pair  of  dainty 
blue-gray  gnatcatchers  that  came  dashing  through  the 
tree-tops,  and  at  once  set  us  all  craning  our  necks  that  we 
might  follow  their  quick  motions.  They  uttered  not  only 
two  clear  notes,  but  followed  these  with  a  rapid  trill  at 
times,  as  though,  through  the  scolding,  their  stock  of  syl- 
lables bubbled  over ;  and  there  was  always  an  earnestness 
in  their  song,  if  so  one  may  call  it,  that  compelled  atten- 
tion. 

I  have  been  familiar  with  this  little  bird  for  years,  and 
it  has  always  been  a  matter  of  surprise  that  Wilson  should 
have  spoken  of  it  as  chirping  feebly  as  a  mouse,  or,  as  has 
been  remarked  by  a  more  recent  writer, "  like  a  mouse  with 
a  toothache."  When  nesting,  this  bird  sings,  but  very 
rarely,  in  quite  an  elaborate  manner,  but  probably  much 
less  so  than  in  more  southern  localities.  I  have  found,  on 
comparing  notes  with  observers  in  other  fields,  that  the 
song  of  the  same  species  differs  very  widely  in  different 
localities. 

Much  depends,  I  take  it,  upon  all  the  circumstances 
attendant  upon  the  study  of  a  particular  warbler,  whether 
it  proves  of  special  interest  or  not.  Certainly,  as  yellow 
red-polls,  northward  bound,  there  is  nothing  particularly 
attractive  about  them ;  as  there  is,  for  instance,  about  the 
ever  abundant  summer  yellow-bird,  whose  few  simple  notes 
are  so  full  of  satisfaction — as  though  it  was  insisting  upon 
the  debatable  point,  whether  or  not  life  is  worth  living. 

It  is  ornithological  heterodoxy  to  speak  disparagingly 


92  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

of  the  North  American  warblers,  I  am  well  aware ;  but  as 
migratory  birds,  seen  only  in  transit,  they  rouse  little  en- 
thusiasm, and  those  that  remain  suffer  by  association  with 
birds  of  other  families ;  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of 
the  Maryland  yellow-throat. 

The  sixth  outing  was  an  up-river  ramble.  Leaving 
the  rocks  against  which  the  incoming  tides  fretted  in 
vain,  we  started  at  the  end  of  the  non-tidal  river  and  com- 
menced an  ascent,  so  gentle  here  that  the  ever  down-flow- 
ing waters  are  our  only  evidence  that  we  rise  higher  and 
higher  above  the  ocean's  level,  almost  at  every  furlong 
of  our  progress.  But  it  is  a  different  country.  No 
change  from  the  home  meadows  could  be  more  abrupt 
and  complete.  Here  we  have  the  often  outcropping  bed- 
rock, and  to  some  extent  a  different  flora.  Here,  hepatica 
and  bloodroot  blossom  in  the  woods,  flowers  that  win  our 
love  at  the  first  glance ;  and  later  smilacina,  delicate  as 
lilies  of  the  valley,  cover  the  crevices  of  many  a  bared 
rock  near  the  water's  edge. 

Nowhere  is  there  uncertain  footing — quicksand,  mud, 
or  floating  weeds ;  but  always  smooth,  compacted  sand,  a 
thickset  sod,  or  smooth  pebbles,  long  since  water-worn, 
but  now  only  overflowed  when  the  river  is  at  a  freshet 
stage.  It  was  at  such  now,  and  a  single  raft  glided  past — 
a  few  score  of  insignificant  sticks,  and  as  nothing  in  com- 
parison with  the  mighty  pine  and  hard-wood  timber,  that 
a  century  ago  was  floated  yearly  from  the  mountains 
above. 

Lumbering  on  the  Delaware  is  now  a  thing  of  the  past, 
and  to-day  the  banks  of  the  stream  have  next  to  nothing 
left  that  the  waters  can  float  to  market;  but  still  the 
mountains  are  beautiful.  Saplings  and  underbrush,  like 
charity,  cover  a  multitude  of  sins.  As  we  pass  by,  their 
green  is  as  rich  as  that  of  forest  growths,  and  we  are  not 
unhappy  if  we  do  not  stop  to  think. 


APRIL.  93 

The  practically  deserted  river  is  more  a  relic  of  the 
past  than  an  important  factor  of  the  present;  for  al- 
though its  shores  have  been  occupied  by  man  a  hundred 
centuries  or  more,  probably  never  until  now  has  the  stream 
itself  proved  of  so  little  use.  To  be  sure,  it  is  the  conven- 
ient sewer  of  up-river  towns  and  the  sweet- water  supply 
of  the  larger  cities  below ;  but  this  counts  for  little,  and 
even  the  fishing  interest  is  next  to  nothing.  The  fond 
hope  of  many  an  angler,  that  the  salmon  might  be  intro- 
duced, can  never  be  realized,  so  unutterably  filthy  is  the 
tidal  portion  of  the  river  for  fully  a  hundred  miles  from 
the  ocean.  Such  an  ordeal  is  too  much  for  this  lordly 
fish ;  and  we  can  only  wonder  that  the  delicate  shad  is 
not  like-minded.  But  our  quest  concerned  the  shores, 
and  not  the  stream,  for  bushes  and  small  birds  have-  not 
yet  been  exterminated.  Migrating  warblers  were  the 
prime  object  of  our  all-day  tramp ;  to  see  and  hear  them, 
if  Fate  willed  it  so ;  and,  as  may  be  inferred,  Fate  did  not 
will  it.  We  saw  but  twenty-one  kinds  of  birds,  only  three 
of  which  were  warblers ;  and  not  one  of  the  whole  series 
but  was,  that  same  day,  far  more  abundant  at  home  than 
here  upon  the  rocky  river  shore. 

For  want  of  suggestive  material,  we  had  to  abandon 
ornithological  field-work  for  more  prosaic  pastime,  and  I 
ventured  upon  the  dangerous  ground  of  pre-eminently 
ancient  man.  Very  persuasively,  as  I  thought,  I  dis- 
coursed on  the  palaeolithic  implement  we  found  on  the 
gravelly  shore,  but  the  significance,  as  I  hold  it,  of  such 
rudely  fractured  stone  was  not  made  apparent.  There 
was  ominously  little  said  in  reply  when  I  closed  my  argu- 
ment, but  the  immovable  countenance  and  far-off  look  of 
my  companion's  eyes  told  me  that,  like  the  river  before  us, 
not  by  the  breadth  of  a  hair  had  the  current  of  his 
thoughts  been  changed. 

Twenty-one  species  of  birds  only,  we  felt,  were  not  of 


91  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

sufficient  interest  to  repay  us  for  our  tramp.  Is  there  not 
something  savoring  of  unwisdom  in  this?  It  is  true, 
every  one  of  them  had  been  long  familiar ;  their  habits 
thoroughly  known ;  yet,  paradoxical  as  the  statement  may 
seem,  not  one  but  has  the  glamour  of  mystery  about  it. 
It  is  only  necessary  to  take  up  American  ornithological 
literature,  and  we  will  quickly  find  that  the  world  is  not 
of  one  mind,  even  as  to  cat-birds  or  the  chipping  sparrow. 
Scores  of  white-bellied  swallows  were  darting  over  the 
water  all  day,  and  there  is  good  ground  for  believing  they 
have  a  nesting  habit  that  is  as  yet  unrecorded.  We  saw  a 
single  kingfisher,  and  I  am  told  that  a  pair  of  these  birds 
had  once  nested  in  a  pile  of  railroad  ties  near  here,  after 
their  nest  in  the  bank  of  an  inflowing  brook  had  twice 
been  washed  away  by  sudden  showers  that  gullied  the 
loose  earth  which  they  had  tunneled.  May  not  such  an 
occurrence  be  really  less  remarkable  than  we  suppose,  and 
have  occurred  time  after  time  and  been  overlooked  ?  How 
is  it  possible  to  keep  such<watch  upon  birds  that  all  their 
irregularities  shall  be  promptly  discovered.  I  am  more  and 
more  inclined  to  give  heed  to  what  I  hear,  considering  how 
often  I  have  myself  seen  the  unexpected  and  improbable. 
Purple  martins  were  abundant  during  the  summer  of  1887, 
and  we  saw  many  during  our  up-river  ramble.  They 
must  have  a  nesting-place  in  the  neighborhood,  yet  no 
boxes  are  occupied  by  them,  these  being  tenanted  by  the 
English  sparrows.  Have  they  not  probably  returned  to 
hollow  trees?  They  have  been  known  to  do  so  within 
the  present  century. 

The  rose-breasted  grosbeak  is  essentially  a  bird  of  the 
tall  trees,  and  possibly  would  die  if  confined  to  the  open 
fields,  yet  I  have  watched  them  by  the  hour,  associated 
most  familiarly  with  chewinks,  scratching  among  the  dead 
leaves.  I  was  held  all  one  forenoon,  last  May,  to  a  single 
spot,  watching  a  red-headed  woodpecker  as  it  sallied  from 


APRIL.  95 

its  post  in  quest  of  flies,  which  it  caught  with  all  the  grace 
and  in  perfect  imitation  of  a  typical  fly-catcher. 

The  truth  is,  there  is  scarcely  a  habit  but  is  open  to 
marked  influence,  and  the  change  may  be  suddenly  brought 
about.  Man  often  abruptly  changes  the  whole  face  of 
nature,  and  the  birds  must  likewise  change  or  f  orsak'e  their 
former  haunts,  and  this  many  species  are  very  loath  to  do. 
Where  English  sparrows  have  forced  their  way  into  the 
country,  the  familiar  birds  of  our  door-yards  and  gardens 
have  been  forced  to  quit,  and  now  frequent  localities 
where  formerly  they  were  seldom  found  and  never  nested. 

In  spite  of  the  unpromising  outlook,  we  continued  our 
search  for  possible  warblers.  Every  house  we  passed  had 
its  grove  of  tall  white  pines  before  it,  and  into  these,  with 
leveled  field-glass,  we  persistently  stared,  hoping,  not  to 
the  consternation  of  timid  women-folk.  Bird-hunting  in 
this  fashion  is  not  yet  quite  a  safe  pastime,  for  the  world 
is  not  so  far  educated  as  to  realize  that  any  one  would 
walk  a  mile  in  hopes  of  merely  seeing  a  rare  warbler,  and 
such  curiosity  has  brought  more  than  one  rambler  to 
temporary  grief.  I  am  so  far  fortunate  as  to  have  escaped 
molestation,  to  date ;  although  I  once  chased  a  wounded 
bird  into  a  stranger's  garden  when  cherries  were  ripe. 
Less  fortunate  was  my  good  uncle,  when  State  Geologist 
of  New  York,  for  he  was  detained  as  a  lunatic  for  two 
whole  days  in  a  country  village  because  his  saddle-bags 
were  filled  with  "broken  stones,"  as  the  fossils  he  had 
collected  were  pronounced  to  be. 

But  with  all  our  care  we  saw  no  warblers,  and  stopped 
at  the  first  tavern  we  reached,  and  refreshed.  There  is 
an  excellent  well  of  sweet  water  in  the  back  yard.  Here, 
too,  we  crossed  the  river  and  commenced  our  homeward 
journey.  Still  no  birds ;  and  probably  never  before  had  I 
taken  a  walk  of  the  same  length  and  seen  so  little.  Dis- 


96  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

couragement  dogged  our  steps  from  the  moment  of  leav- 
ing home  until,  as  the  day  closed,  we  re-entered  the 
house. 

Such  empty  days  are  by  no  means  valueless.  They 
teach  at  least  the  uncertainty  of  bird  migration,  and  like- 
wise th'e  fickleness  of  resident  species.  Why,  indeed,  the 
latter  should  have  forsaken  us  is  a  puzzle  I  have  no  hopes 
of  solving.  To  walk  for  hours  about  a  favorite  haunt 
of  winter  birds  and  see  a  solitary  chickadee  only  is  not 
an  experience  to  recall  except  with  disgust,  yet  such  was 
ours  one  chilly,  gusty,  yet  cloudless  April  morning.  Even 
the  crested  tit,  that  storm-defying  hero  that  the  winter 
long  had  cheered  the  naked  woods,  and  whose  notes  are, 
of  all  sounds  in  early  April,  the  surest  to  revivify  our 
drooping  hopes — even  it  forsook  the  home  hill-side  for 
an  entire  week.  But  the  world  turned  over  a  new  leaf 
on  the  twenty-eighth,  and  summer  may  be  said  to  date 
from  that  bright  morning,  for  spring  as  a  season  is  a 
baseless  myth.  < 

April  is  not  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  the  weather. 
Many  a  plant,  as  well  as  bird,  flourishes  in  spite  of  frost 
or  snow  or  ice ;  and  lately  we  have  had  all  three.  The 
black  and  wintry  waters  of  the  meadow  ponds,  that  seem 
but  a  little  way  off  to  be  well-nigh  fathomless,  are  really 
shallow,  and  what  little  warmth  the  fitful  sun  vouchsafes 
is  carefully  husbanded.  The  host  of  crowding  water  weeds 
risk  the  chill  nights  and  scarcely  less  frosty  days,  and 
unless  it  be  such  a  memorable  year  as  1816,  when  there 
was  ice  every  month,  they  suffer  nothing.  Yearly  the 
farmer  frowns  at  April  frosts,  declaring  that  he  will  be 
ruined.  His  sad  prognostications  always  recall  the  annual 
destruction  of  the  rarely  destroyed  peach  crop. 

There  was  little  but  strictly  wintry  weather  in  April, 
1888,  and  the  average  tree  and  plant  were  two  weeks  later 


APRIL.  97 

than  in  1887;  but  in  one  sheltered  nook  wherein  the 
drifts  of  the  great  March  storm  lingered  until  the  second 
week  there  was  found,  almost  on  time,  the  delicate  Dicen- 
tra,  with  its  luxuriance  of  beautiful  leaves  and  exquisite 
pendent  bloom  of  ivory  and  gold.  To  think  that  such  a 
plant  should  be  called  "  Dutchman's  breeches  " !  If  this 
abomination  were  dropped  from  Gray's  manual,  perhaps 
in  time  a  decent  substitute  would  come  in  use.  But  why 
not  call  the  plant  Dicentra  ? 

Fortunately,  botany  is  not,  like  ornithology,  cursed 
with  often  worse  than  meaningless  names ;  execrable  Latin 
and  worse  Greek  that  has  been  foisted  upon  the  science 
by  a  recent  nomenclatorial  congress.  A  name  that  is 
meaningless,  misleading,  or  inappropriate  has  no  right  to 
be ;  yet  such  are  now  claimed  to  be  established  for  all 
time.  But  the  world  at  large  has  no  need  of  such  insuffer- 
able rot. 

During  the  same  cold  April  days,  where  the  terrace 
blends  with  the  level  meadows  at  the  feet  of  stately  trees 
the  sod  was  thickly  starred  with  heart's-ease.  Confidence 
was  stamped  in  each  brave  little  face,  and  however  often 
the  breeze  pressed  them  to  the  ground,  straightway  it 
passed  they  smiled  as  sweetly  as  before. 

With  these,  blue  violets,  pale  bluets,  and  brilliant 
buttercups,  there  was  surely  enough  to  tempt  the  birds, 
and  field  sparrows  on  the  terrace  and  hair  birds  everwhere 
sang  as  merrily  as  they  knew. 

So  far,  this  icy  April  held  her  own,  but  at  times  she 
struggled  against  fearful  odds. 

At  all  times  there  was  life  in  the  waters,  if  not  in  the 
air,  and  a  long  procession  of  restless  fishes  passed  by 
whenever  I  sat  on  the  creek  bank  or  stood  still  a  moment 
as  I  came  to  the  meadow  brooks.  Every  one  except  the 
eels  and  cat-fish  were  dressed  in  holiday  suits;  and  few 
people  would  suspect  that  many  a  silvery  minnow  of  later 


98  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

summer  is  now  decked  with  every  color  of  the  rainbow. 
There  is  always  a  fascination  in  the  still  waters  of  a  deep 
pool.  The  improbable  appearance  of  some  strange  creat- 
ure from  its  depths  is  the  subtle  thought  that  holds  me 
whenever  I  chance  to  pass  by  the  great  bend  of  Poastquis- 
sings.  Once,  on  a  chill  and  dull  November  day,  a  great 
snapping  turtle  thrust  his  head  above  the  surface,  yawned, 
and  disappeared.  And  how  vividly  I  can  recall  an  expe- 
rience of  thirty  years  ago !  While  yet  some  distance  off,  I 
saw  what  I  took  to  be  an  otter,  and  commenced  creeping 
slowly  toward  it,  in  hopes  of  a  better  view.  Nearer  and 
nearer  I  drew,  and  the  unsuspecting  otter  remained  at  his 
post.  Finally,  I  reached  the  water's  edge,  and  looked  di- 
rectly into  it.  My  face  was  within  a  foot  of  the  surface, 
and  directly  in  front  was  a  nest-making  sunfish.  Did  you 
ever  look  one  squarely  in  the  face  ?  If  so,  you  have  seen 
a  monster — a  stranger  shape  than  fevered  fancy  ever  de- 
picted. The  supposed  otter  was  a  slimy  log. 

I  often  think  of  that  long-distant  day,  and  when  the 
quiet  waters  sparkle  with  long  rows  of  glistening  bubbles, 
the  gas  from  decomposing  vegetation,  I  think  of  creatures 
that  may  startle  my  maturer  years  as  the  great  red-eared 
sunfish  frightened  an  eager  boy. 

A  feature  of  winter,  and  even  of  spring  so  late  as 
April,  is  last  year's  leaves.  As  I  walked  recently  along  a 
wooded  hill-side,  over  tree-margined  fields,  and  skirted  a 
swamp  too  wet,  as  yet,  to  enter,  I  noticed  many  a  tree 
with  last  year's  leaves  still  on  it.  Except  one  tupelo, 
which  usually  drops  its  foliage  earlier  than  our  other  forest 
trees,  these  leaf -bearers  were  all  oaks  or  beeches.  Thoreau 
speaks  of  the  white  oaks  about  Concord  retaining  their 
leaves  as  a  rule,  and  others  deny  that  this  is  true,  or  more 
than  an  occasional  occurrence. 

The  conclusions  derived  from  my  own  memoranda, 


APRIL.  99 

covering  many  years,  and  of  my  ramble  of  yesterday  par- 
ticularly, are  that  not  only  the  white  oak,  but  several 
other  species,  do  retain  their  leaves,  or  a  considerable  per- 
centage of  them,  until  early  in  May  of  the  next  year. 
Take  any  oak  grove  in  this  neighborhood,  and  I  think  it 
will  be  found,  if  the  trees  are  not  too  crowded  for  healthy 
growth,  that  fully  three  fourths  of  them  retain  from  one 
tenth  to  one  half  of  their  leaves.  But  when  we  come  to 
consider  single  trees,  this  habit  of  leaf -retention  will  be 
found  one  of  many  curious  features.  For  instance,  I  know 
of  many  single  trees,  both  oaks  and  beeches,  that  have  a 
single  limb  that  will  retain  its  foliage  the  winter  through, 
while  the  other  branches  are  bare  from  November  to  May. 
Again,  a  tree  that  stands  upon  the  edge  of  a  wood  will 
hold  its  leaves  on  the  open,  light,  and  airy  side,  and  drop 
those  that  grew  upon  the  shaded  limbs.  Does  the  greater 
vigor  of  the  foliage  upon  the  sunny  side  explain  this  ? 

In  one  of  my  upland  fields  there  stands  a  thrifty  scar- 
let oak  that  is  noticeable  for  the  beauty  and  density  of  its 
foliage.  In  October  the  deep  green  becomes  a  rich  ma- 
roon, and  later,  a  lighter  and  brighter  red,  and  not  until 
nearly  New  Year's  has  the  ruddy  tinting  given  way  to 
brown.  Even  then  the  tree  remains  a  prominent  object, 
and  is,  indeed,  even  for  an  oak,  one  among  a  thousand. 
For  the  past  fourteen  years  this  tree  has  never  failed  to 
retain  nearly  all  its  leaves,  although  in  that  time  there  has 
been  every  variety  of  summer  and  winter  that  even  the 
powers  in  charge  of  our  capricious  climate  could  invent. 

On  examination  of  the  oaks  near  by,  it  has  seemed  to 
me  that  they  all  have  a  tendency  to  retain  their  leaves, 
and  the  measure  of  success  in  each  case  is  due  principally 
to  the  exposure  of  the  tree  and  its  general  vigor.  Here  I 
may  be  wholly  at  sea,  and  only  too  glad  to  be  informed 
correctly  if  in  error. 

What  I  have  said  of  oaks  applies  equally  to  the  beech. 


100  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

Given  shelter  from  the  northwest  winds  and  average 
vigor,  and  many  a  leaf  will  cling  to  its  parent  stem  until 
the  swelling  leaf -buds  of  the  new  year  shall  crowd  it  from 
its  place. 

While  yet  the  drifts  of  the  late  great  snow-storm  still 
lingered,  it  was  a  pleasant  feature  of  the  landscape  to  see 
the  sapling  beeches  still  bearing  aloft  their  last  year's 
leaves,  dimly  glittering  like  wrinkled  fragments  of  old 
gold,  and  filling  the  air  with  a  bell-like  tinkle,  soothing 
and  soft  as  the  twitter  of  a  bird. 

I  offer  it  as  a  hint  to  the  landscape  gardener,  to  bring 
about  by  selection — if  it  can  be  done — a  fully  established 
habit  of  leaf -retention ;  not  making  evergreen  oaks,  but 
winter-long,  bright  brown  oaks ;  for  such  now  lessen  to  a 
marked  degree  the  dreariness  of  many  a  winter  outlook. 
Again,  when  leaf -retaining  oaks  are  mingled  with  ever- 
greens, there  is  an  added  charm  to  the  scene.  Think  for 
a  moment  of  such  a  cluster  as  this:  A  background  of 
cedar,  scattered  oaks  with  dark  brown  leaves,  a  beech  with 
golden  foliage,  and  crimson-fruited  black  alder  mingled 
through  it  all,  for  the  fruit  of  the  alder  clings  at  times  to 
the  stems  until  winter  is  well  advanced,  and  the  glowing 
color  of  the  berries  is  not  dimmed  even  when  the  fruit  is 
shriveled. 

Lastly,  it  matters  nothing  what  the  weather  may  be, 
April  has  yet  another  feature  worthy  of  record,  one  that 
gives  it  a  glory  above  all  winter  months — the  coming  of 
the  pioneer  thrush.  This  year,  the  mild,  moonlit  mid- 
night of  March  31  wooed  him  hither.  We  may  be  sure 
of  this,  for  he  is  no  skulker  in  early  spring,  and  greets  the 
sunrise  with  no  uncertain  song,  wherever  he  may  be. 
Very  appropriately,  then,  he  was  first  seen  and  heard  as 
the  glimmering  light  of  dawn  disclosed,  April  1st,  the 
naked  fields,  the  faintly  greening  willows,  and  wide 


APRIL. 

reaches  of  sparkling  waters ;  for  the  spring-tide  freshet 
covers  all  the  lowlands,  and  we  have  no  meadows  now,  but 
the  ragged  remnant  of  a  short-lived  lake  instead. 

It  is  needless  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  lone 
thrush's  song ;  suffice  it  to  say  he  sang,  and  the  scattered 
leaves  that  the  winter  long  have  clung  to  their  parent 
stems,  and  the  trembling  twigs  of  every  tree  and  shrub 
seemed  conscious  of  his  presence  and  thrilled  by  his  in- 
spiring voice. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MAY. 

NOTHING  could  more  neatly  and  truthfully  express 
the  conditions  of  the  outdoor  world  in  early  May  than 
the  name  given  to  the  month  by  the  Delaware  Indians — 
Tauiuinipen  gischucli,  the  moon  of  the  beginning  of  sum- 
mer. And  dearest  of  all  the  moons  should  this  one  be  to 
him  who  loves  an  outing,  if  it  be,  as  has  been  said,  that 
by  its  waxing  light  many  a  long-absent  migratory  bird  is 
guided  to  its  haunts  of  a  year  ago. 

I  have  often  wondered  if  an  Indian  ever  said  to  him- 
self, "  To-morrow  will  be  the  first  of  May,"  and  retired  in 
blissful  expectation  of  being  aroused  by  a  grand  chorus  of 
newly  arrived  songsters.  Probably  not ;  nor  can  I,  much 
as  I  would  love  to  have  it  so,  for  the  reason  that  many  a 
summer  bird  persists  in  dropping  in  upon  us  before  that 
magic  date. 

So  far  as  my  own  observations  extend,  the  moon  influ- 
ences migration,  if  it  does  at  all,  in  some  such  way  as  this  : 
If  it  fulls  between  April  20  and  30,  then  the  birds  that 
are  latest  to  arrive,  as  a  rule,  will  be  earlier  by  nearly  a 
week  than  if  the  nights  are  dark,  as  when  there  is  no  moon 
or  a  waning  one.  But  this  may  be  all  a  mere  coincidence, 
and  of  but  one  fact  I  can  speak  positively — that  regularity 
is  not  so  important  a  factor  of  the  habit  as  is  persistently 
claimed. 

But  May  is  a  month  to  be  enjoyed,  not  coldly  discussed, 


MAY.  103 

and  enthusiasm  should  thrill  to  the  very  finger-tips  of 
every  one  who,  on  the  morning  of  the  month's  first  day, 
hears  the  thrush,  grosbeak,  oriole,  and  a  host  of  warblers 
as  they  greet  the  rising  sun.  And  rest  assured,  dear 
startled  reader,  that  unless  you  are  astir  before  the  sun 
is  fairly  above  the  horizon  you  will  never  know  what 
bird-music  really  is.  It  is  not  alone  the  mingled  voices 
of  a  dozen  sweet  songsters;  for  the  melody  needs  the 
dewy  dawn,  the  half-opened  flowers,  the  odor-laden  breeze 
that  is  languid  from  very  sweetness,  and  a  canopy  of 
misty,  rosy-tinted  cloud,  to  blend  them  to  a  harmonious 
whole,  and  so  faintly  foreshadow  what  a  perfected  world 
may  be. 

I  spent  a  portion  of  May,  1887,  in  a  mountainous 
region,  for  I  longed  to  test  the  truthfulness  of  the  claim 
that  there  only  could  I  hear  the  choicest  songsters  at  their 
best.  Forgive  me,  home  woods  and  native  fields,  for  I 
must  confess  to  its  truth. 

Eeaching  my  destination  at  night,  I  gave  little  heed  to 
my  surroundings  then,  and  can  only  testify  to  the  power 
of  the  mountain  whip-poor-wills  to  break  the  slumbers  of 
the  soundest  sleeper.  A  half -score,  at  least,  of  these 
strange  birds  seemed  to  be  perched  upon  my  window-sill, 
if,  indeed,  not  in  the  room  itself ;  and  not  until  dawn  did 
they  cease,  except  to  draw  breath,  their  shrill  discordant 
cry.  I  certainly  had  these  birds  at  their  best,  and  it  was 
an  instance  where  too  great  familiarity  bred  contempt.  It 
is  a  trite  saying  that  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,  but 
it  is  hard  to  believe  that  whip-poor-wills  really  enjoy  the 
sound  of  their  own  voices.  Did  noise,  like  light,  attract 
insects,  then,  indeed,  they  would  not  be  as  they  now  are, 
mysterious  by  reason  of  their  song. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  chose  the  lake  as  my  best 
point  for  general  observation.  And  such  a  day ! 


104  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

Swallows  over  the  water, 
Warblers  over  the  land ; 
Silvery,  tinkling  ripples 
Along  the  pebbly  strand. 
Afar  in  the  upper  ether 
The  eagle  floats  at  rest ; 
No  wind  now  frets  the  forest ; 
'Tis  Nature  at  her  best. 
The  golden  haze  of  autumn 
Enwraps  the  bloom  of  May — 
Fate  grant  me  many  another 
Such  perfect  summer  day. 

The  difference  of  elevation  between  the  mountain  lake 
and  my  home  on  the  ridge  by  tide-water  meadows — one 
nearly  of  twelve  hundred  feet — had,  I  doubt  not,  much  to 
do  with  the  distinctness  that  characterized  the  songs  of 
even  the  small  migrating  warblers.  Many  of  these  rest- 
less birds  that  I  have  always  had  at  home  to  seek  out,  that 
I  might  catch  as  best  I  could  the  short,  sweet  songs  they 
whisper  to  the  flowers  only,  here  rang  out  their  melody 
in  such  bold,  decisive  tones  that  even  their  faintest  utter- 
ance was  heard. 

The  blue  yellow-backed  warbler  was  a  prominent  spe- 
cies of  this  numerous  family,  and  an  excellent  one  where- 
with to  test  the  question  of  song  variation  in  different  lo- 
calities. Dr.  Brewer  states  that  "  it  has  no  song  properly 
so  called ;  its  notes  are  feeble  and  few,  and  can  be  heard 
only  a  short  distance  " ;  and  quotes  Mr.  T.  M.  Trippe,  of 
Orange,  New  Jersey,  to  the  effect  that  the  song,  while 
"  sharp  and  lisping,"  is  quite  varied,  and  consists  of  several 
notes.  This  is  quite  applicable  to  such  as  I  have  heard  at 
home,  where  they  are  found  all  summer,  and,  I  am  in- 
formed, true  of  them  in  southern  Jersey,  where,  as  along 
Cohansey  Creek,  in  Cumberland  County,  they  breed  in  con- 
siderable numbers.  But  about  the  lake  shore,  in  Morris 
County,  where  they  were  abundant,  the  sharpness  and  lisp 


MA  Y.  105 

mentioned  by  Mr.  Trippe  were  not  noticeable,  and  every 
note,  as  both  my  companion  and  I  heard  them,  was  clear, 
of  moderate  volume,  and  sweet.  Furthermore,  they  sang 
constantly,  and,  unlike  many  other  warblers,  frequently 
stopped  to  sing,  as  though  fond  of  their  own  music ;  and 
did  not,  as  is  so  common,  merely  fling  out  the  notes  that 
gathered  in  their  throats,  as  though  they  were  obstacles  to 
fly-catching. 

Another  warbler  noted  particularly  was  the  black- 
throated  green,  which  at  home  sings  but  moderately  well, 
and,  I  think,  never  in  a  manner  to  make  it  noticeable 
to  the  unobservant.  So  far,  my  own  impression,  at  least, 
and  I  was  recently  much  surprised  to  hear  a  friend  an- 
nounce that  before  he  arose  that  morning,  he  had  heard 
one  of  these  birds  singing,  although  the  window  was  but 
slightly  opened.  Perhaps  an  ardent  lover  of  birds  blessed 
with  such  acute  hearing  may  be  inclined  to  call  the  green 
warbler  a  fine  songster ;  but  it  is  not  likely  to  be  classed  as 
such  by  the  less  gifted  commonalty.  For  many  a  sum- 
mer I  had  tried  most  faithfully  to  hear  the  "  Hear  me,  St. 
Theresa ! "  so  gracefully  described  by  Wilson  Flagg.  On 
the  shores  of  Lake  Hopatcong,  I  at  last  heard  it.  Whether 
these  birds  were  at  the  very  tops  of  the  tallest  trees  or  in 
the  tangled  thickets  that  filled  every  space  between  the 
huge  rocks,  it  mattered  not.  They  sang  incessantly, 
morning,  noon,  and  night;  and  always  as  sweetly  and 
clearly  as  the  song  was  continuous.  Here,  these  birds 
are  found  all  summer ;  in  other  words,  are  at  home,  and 
proved  new  birds  to  me. 

The  redeye,  among  the  vireos,  too,  had  a  more  flute- 
like  song,  and,  like  the  warbler,  sang  at  all  hours ;  but 
never  lapsed  into  the  peevish,  complaining,  muffled  utter- 
ance, so  commonly  heard  in  south  Jersey — as  though  pro- 
testing against  the  humid,  enervating  heat.  And  again, 
upon  the  summits  of  the  highest  surrounding  hills,  were 


106  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

many  indigo  birds,  all  of  which  had  a  more  mellow  and 
less  sibilant  song,  than  have  those  that  sing  in  my 
garden. 

But  above  all  the  others  and  ever  to  be  remembered 
were  birds  of  three  widely  different  kinds  that,  for  abun- 
dance, want  of  fear  of  man,  and  constant  singing,  far  ex- 
celled the  scores  of  species  that  were  identified.  They 
were  the  Baltimore  oriole,  the  scarlet  tanager,  and  the  red- 
starts. 

The  songs  of  the  orioles  were  so  soft,  yet  clear,  and 
had  so  often  a  perfect  flute-like  trill,  that  when  I  first 
heard  them  in  the  gray  dawn  I  was  sorely  puzzled,  and 
disposed  to  doubt  my  companion's  decision  when  he  an- 
nounced one  as  singing  in  this  sweet,  wild  way  while  rol- 
licking in  the  misty  air.  Unlike  the  orioles  at  home, 
they  did  not  first  alight  .and  then  fairly  scream  their  satis- 
faction that  May  days  had  come.  Alas !  that  words  are 
well-nigh  useless  wherewith  to  attempt  the  description  of 
bird-music  !  Accept,  then,  the  simple  statement,  that 
these  happy  orioles  sang  as  I  had  never  heard  them  be- 
fore. Was  it  the  mountain  air  or  their  feeling  of  security, 
or  both  ?  I  learned  that  under  no  consideration  was  a  gun 
allowed  to  be  fired  or  a  bird  disturbed  on  any  pretext ; 
and  as  a  result  here  were  orioles  nesting  in  low  shade 
trees  by  the  hotel  porch,  and  familiar  as  the  plaguey  spar- 
rows of  city  streets.  From  what  I  saw  I  believe  that 
many  a  new  chapter  might  be  added  to  our  knowledge 
of  birds,  if  everywhere  they  were  protected  as  they  are 
here. 

The  tanagers  were  less  social,  but  scarcely  less  tame. 
Look  where  we  would,  these  brilliant  birds  were  there ; 
not  singly,  as  they  haunt  the  home  orchards,  but  by  scores, 
and  the  same  magical  influence  was  exerted  upon  them. 
For  once  they  might  be  rated  as  song-birds.  Even  the 
redstarts  might  be  classed  as  musical.  Perhaps  it  was 


MAY.  107 

because  a  dozen  might  be  heard  at  once,  that  their  efforts 
proved  so  pleasing.  One  whole  day  was  given  to  gazing 
at  and  lingering  about  a  madcap,  crystal  brook  where  the 
redstarts  seemed  as  numberless  as  the  flies  they  snapped 
at.  The  half-leaved  twigs  of  birches,  ash,  and  sapling 
oaks  were  threaded  like  glinting  sunbeams  by  these  merry 
birds,  and  each  one  singing  without  a  moment's  rest. 
These  flashing,  fire-fronted  warblers  can  be  likened,  for 
activity,  only  to  the  clouds  of  May-flies  that  dim  the 
evening  air.  I  would  like  to  give  an  estimate  of  their 
numbers  for  the  benefit  of  ornithologists,  but  forbear; 
resting  with  the  statement  that  I  little  thought  so  many 
were  to  be  found  in  all  the  State. 

To  put  it  coldly,  the  one  marked  feature  in  the  case  of 
every  singing  bird  I  heard,  was  purity  of  tone.  And,  if  I 
may  judge  by  my  own  feelings,  I  would  declare  that  the 
influence  was  an  atmospheric  one.  Can  it  be  that  the 
birds  of  south  Jersey  suffer  from  a  feeling  of  depression 
suggestive  of  malaria? 

Before  recurring  to  other  features  of  this  region,  let  me 
add  one  word  concerning  the  sprout-land  areas  through 
which  a  stream  may  pass.  Taken  all  in  all,  birds  are  there 
to  be  found  in  greatest  numbers.  Nowhere  else  did  we 
find  a  tithe  of  the  variety ;  never  elsewhere  but  a  meager 
fraction  of  their  numbers.  Impatient  as  I  was  to  explore 
the  deep-bayed  shores  of  the  beautiful  lake,  I  found  a  long 
summer  day  all  too  short  for  one  little  stream  that  I  have 
recorded  in  my  field-notes  as  "  Kedstart  Brook,"  adding 
beneath  the  name : 

From  the  deep  caverns  of  the  distant  hills, 
Your  growing  strength,  the  flow  of  many  rills, 
In  fitful  haste  adown  the  uplifted  rocks, 
Where  dancing  sunshine  many  a  shadow  mocks, 
With  ceaseless  song  your  merry  way  you  take, 
To  rest  at  last  in  fair  Hopatcong's  lake. 


108  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

I  marvel  that  you  pause  not  when  the  bird, 
By  happy  thought  to  melody  is  stirred ; 
When,  as  a  flash  of  ruddy  flame,  I  see 
The  summer  redbird  poised  upon  the  tree, 
Or  hear  the  happy  redstart  warbling  where 
The  lichened  rocks  are  draped  with  maiden-hair. 

Here  would  I  linger  while  the  summer  stays, 
Here  gladly  spend  brief  autumn's  shortening  days, 
Nor  ask  a  fairer  friend  the  winter  through 
Than  I  have  found,  dear  mountain  brook,  in  you ; 
And  when  strength  fails— my  weary  eyes  grow  dim- 
Be  thy  sweet  rippling  song  my  funeral  hymn. 

A  word  as  to  this  lake.  Hopatcong  has  an  altitude  of 
about  twelve  hundred  feet,  and  lies  between  high  hills 
that  completely  hem  it  in.  Look  where  you  will,  you  can 
see  no  outlet ;  nothing  but  the  wide  waters  and  the  wooded 
mountain-side  beyond.  To  a  certain  extent,  it  is  artifi- 
cial, but  the  visitor  would  not  suspect  this  from  the  general 
appearance.  More  than  half  a  century  ago,  the  Morris 
Canal  was  built,  and  supplied  by  a  feeder  from  an  outlet 
of  the  lake.  This,  of  course,  increased  the  area  and  depth 
of  the  lake,  as  the  construction  of  gates  at  the  outlet  was 
a  necessity ;  and  now  the  waters,  thus  backed  up,  have 
found  their  "  way  through  cross-gorges  into  parallel  val- 
leys, originally  heavily  wooded,  and  the  denuded  stems 
and  shorter  stumps,  standing  up  through  the  glittering 
water  or  resting  in  the  shallows,  suggest  a  prosaic  if  not 
a  classical  appropriateness  in  the  local  name  of  one  of 
them — the  '  Eiver  Styx.'  In  this  locality,  and  in  the  so- 
called  '  Cedar  Swamp,'  another  deep  bay  in  this  nine- 
mile-long  pond,"  continues  our  author,  "  on  nearly  every 
floating  log  or  fallen  tree-top  or  loosened  stump  could  be 
found,  when  they  were  turned  over,  shining  patches  of 
white  or  yellowish  gemmules,  left  in  groups  upon  the 
smooth  surface  or  partly  hidden  in  little  crevices  of  bark 
or  root."  This  was  in  October.  I  confess  to  have  not 


MAY.  109 

noticed  or,  indeed,  thought  of  sponges,  although  so  many 
of  them  are  beautiful,  while  about  this  same  "  River 
Styx,"  in  May ;  nor  is  it  strange.  It  was  then  the  para- 
dise of  the  largest  water-snakes  I  ever  saw.  Bold  to  a 
degree,  they  permitted  of  a  near  approach,  and  I  had 
abundant  opportunity  to  estimate  quite  accurately  their 
size.  One  rusty,  wrinkled  ophidian  patriarch  was  fully 
six  feet  in  length.  Of  this,  I  think,  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  although  it  exceeds  any  recorded  measurements 
that  I  have  seen.  The  temper  of  this  creature  was  posi- 
tively fearful,  and  had  the  species  been  venomous,  I  should 
have  shuddered  to  approach  so  near.  As  it  was,  my  com- 
panion and  I  were  the  attacked,  and  not  the  attacking 
party.  The  snake  threatened  to  leap  into  our  boat,  and 
struck  savagely  at  the  blade  of  the  oar  with  which  I 
partly  dislodged  him  from  his  snug  bed  upon  a  floating 
log.  Every  inch  of  ground  was  contested.  When  in  the 
water,  the  angry  creature  swam  slowly,  and  now  appeared 
even  larger  than  before.  My  companion  and  I  agreed 
that  had  we  not  seen  it  before,  it  would  have  been  pru- 
dent not  to  have  mentioned  our  impressions.  The  slight 
ripple  of  the  lake's  surface  and  the  turnings  and 
twistings  between  the  clusters  of  aquatic  plants  had 
much  to  do  with  the  snake's  apparent  length,  and  it 
was  very  evident  that  many  of  the  snake  stories  that 
find  place  in  newspapers  might  be  related  in  perfectly 
good  faith  by  the  original  observer.  Once  our  gigan- 
tic specimen  moved  into  an  open  space  in  which  were 
congregated  many  huge  sunfish ;  they  immediately  darted 
off  as  in  terror,  and  did  not  return  for  several  min- 
utes. 

"Wherever  we  looked,  we  saw  these  pretty  snakes,  or 
rather  saw  many  that  were  beautifully  marked,  and  others, 
the  larger  ones,  that  were  uniformly  brown  or  blackish 
brown  above.  All  were  in  the  water  or  upon  the  stumps 


110  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

or  logs,  and  not  a  trace  of  one  on  the  huge  rocks  that 
made  up  the  shore. 

I  climbed  one  of  these  to  survey  the  lake,  unmindful 
of  possible  danger  from  venomous  species,  as  the  common 
rattler ;  and,  escaping  harm,  felt  well  repaid  for  the  scram- 
ble. The  water  below  me  was  brilliant  with  floating  crow- 
foot, whose  golden  bloom  fairly  rivaled  the  star-studded 
heavens  when  the  night  is  clear ;  and,  when  the  breezes 
swept  across  the  cove,  "  Eiver  Styx  "  became  a  river  of 
molten  gold.  The  innumerable  jutting  tree-stumps  alone 
gave  the  spot  a  desolate  look ;  and  this  was  lessened  by 
the  constant  use  to  which  they  were  put  as  coignes  of  van- 
tage by  birds,  turtles,  and  the  many  snakes. 

A  solitary  kill-deer  plover,  seemingly  quite  out  of  place, 
flitted  from  one  stump  to  another,  evidently  ill  at  ease, 
and  wondering,  perhaps,  how  or  why  he  came  there.  It 
was  quite  unmindful  of  the  continual  uplifting  of  savage 
serpents'  heads  about  it,  and  pirouetted  on  the  broader 
stumps  as  if  really  happy ;  yet  I  knew  that  it  was  not,  and 
wished  it  far  away.  It  proved  a  veritable  annoyance ;  and 
we  all  know  how  serious  petty  vexations  may  become. 

About  the  rocks  there  were  no  birds  of  any  kind,  and, 
indeed,  nothing  to  attract  them  ;  but,  when  at  times  for  a 
moment  the  wind  fell,  many  familiar  songs  were  floated 
from  the  mountains  opposite — songs  that  linked  me  to 
the  home  hill-side,  and  forced  more  than  once  a  longing 
sigh. 

The  rock  whereon  I  stood  was  itself  beautiful,  as  were 
all  others  that  formed  islets  in  the  upper  reaches  of  the 
lake ;  the  mineral,  opaque  white,  of  rectangular  cleavage, 
and  but  slightly  veined  with  stone  of  other  color.  In 
many  seams,  often  too  narrow  to  insert  a  knife-blade,  waxy 
smilacina  grew  and  flourished  ;  its  deep-green  leaves  and 
snowy  bloom  often  extending  completely  across  the  rock's 
surface,  and  down  its  precipitous  sides.  The  effect  was 


MAY.  HI 

most  curious  when  seen  from  a  distance — when  rocks 
appeared  to  be  split  from  top  to  bottom. 

Where  a  little  soil  vouchsafed  a  root-hold,  the  vigor- 
ous columbine  grew  in  phenomenal  luxuriance,  and  now 
in  full  bloom  offered  masses  of  red  and  yellow  that  re- 
lieved the  occasional  monotony  of  too  deep  green  or  glar- 
ing white. 

Why  this  hardy  plant  is  in  such  apparent  ill-favor 
among  landscape  gardeners,  I  am  puzzled  to  know.  Here 
on  these  rocks,  and  everywhere  in  the  deep  woods  of 
the  mountains,  it  formed  great  clusters,  one  of  which  I 
measured,  and  found  to  be  over  three  feet  in  height  and 
of  thrice  that  girth.  As  a  mass  of  delicate  foliage  and 
pendent,  nodding,  ruddy  bloom,  it  far  excelled  any  display 
of  wild  flowers,  save  one,  that  I  ever  saw. 

On  other  rocks  over  which  I  climbed  the  red-berried 
elder  was  a  most  attractive  feature.  This  shrub  was  now 
laden  with  globes  of  richest  red  buds,  that  afterward 
expand  to  pyramidal  heads  of  waxy  white  flowers.  I 
found  them  in  all  stages  of  advancement,  and  would  have 
loaded  my  boat  had  they  not  been  cursed  with  a  pene- 
trating ancient  and  fish-like  smell. 

A  curious  feature  of  a  few  of  these  rocky  islets  is  the 
fact  that  although  the  soil  is  but  the  scanty  accumulation 
of  dust  and  mold,  filling  narrow  crevices,  yet  hemlocks, 
maples,  aspens,  sweet  birch,  and  wild  cherry,  found  suffi- 
cient for  their  needs.  That  flowering  plants  and  some 
small  shrubs  should  do  so,  is  not  strange,  but  the  hemlocks, 
for  instance,  were  trees  thirty  feet  high  and  from  eight  to 
twelve  inches  in  diameter. 

In  many  cases,  the  roots  extended  like  great  cables 
carelessly  thrown  down  over  a  considerable  space,  and  then 
disappeared  as  flattened  threads  in  crannies  that  might 
offer  a  hold,  perhaps,  but  never  yield  any  nourishment. 
All  this  struck  me  the  more,  because  when  we  plant  these 


112  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

trees  at  home  it  is  thought  necessary  to  dig  a  small-sized 
cellar,  fill  it  with  selected  fertilizers,  and  tend  the  tree 
subsequently  as  though  it  were  an  invalid. 

Such  trees,  however,  do  not  have  a  long  lease  of  life, 
even  if  the  barren  rock  and  the  atmosphere  combine  to 
furnish  them  sufficient  food.  They  are  sure — sooner  or 
later — to  be  in  the  track  of  a  tornado,  or  are  too  heavily 
weighted  with  snow,  and  so  are  toppled  over.  I  examined 
the  roots  of  one  such  tree  that  had  been  overturned  but 
the  winter  before,  and  could  find  no  evidence  of  any  root 
having  penetrated  a  foot  in  depth.  They  had  merely 
clasped  the  rock  as  the  ivy  does  a  stone  wall,  or  the  poison- 
vine  the  shaggy  bark  of  an  oak  or  elm.  This  prostrate 
tree  was  not  dead,  although  the  roots  were  exposed  to  the 
air  fully  as  much  as  the  branches.  There  was  sap  in  the 
one  and  bright  green  buds  all  over  the  other.  What 
growth  it  would  make  I  then  wondered,  and  now  long  to 
know  if,  this  20th  of  May,  just  a  year  later,  the  tree  still 
lives. 

Of  invertebrate  life,  spiders  were  most  numerous  upon 
the  rocks,  yet  I  could  find  no  webs.  One  noble  fellow, 
richly  brown  and  black  and  quite  an  inch  long,  was 
the  fit  companion  for  the  savage  skinks  that  tenant  the 
precipitous  rocks ;  of  which  reptiles,  more  hereafter.  The 
spider — whose  friendship  I  endeavored  to  cultivate — proved 
quite  as  much  at  home  in  the  water  as  upon  the  rock,  and 
after  finding  my  persistent  chasing  was  tiresome,  or  likely 
to  prove  dangerous,  ran  down  the  side  of  the  rock  to  a 
slightly  projecting  ledge,  a  foot  beneath  the  surface.  He 
glistened  like  silver  as  he  went,  the  hair  upon  his  body  and 
legs  holding  little  beads  of  air,  which  serve  the  double 
purpose  of  supplying  breath  and  of  buoying  him.  I  tried 
in  many  ways  to  dislodge  him,  and  when,  with  a  switch, 
I  pushed  him  into  the  deep  water,  he  came  to  the  surface 
like  a  cork,  and  ran  like  a  "  skater  "  to  shore.  A  second 


MAY.  113 

dive  was  successful.    He  found  safe  shelter  in  a  submerged 
cranny  to  which  I  could  not  reach. 

Other  species — usually  smaller — were  also  seen,  and 
everywhere  on  the  hot,  sunny  surface  of  the  bare  rocks  the 
short,  square-headed  jumpers  were  exceedingly  abundant. 
They  were  not  easily  caught,  having  a  trick  of  walking 
side  wise  and  backward,  as  well  as  giving  forward  leaps  to 
a  considerable  distance.  Such  as  I  brushed  into  the  water 
were  quite  disconcerted,  and  more  than  one  fell  a  prey  to 
the  great  rosy-finned  chubs  that  leaped  above  the  surface 
as  they  caught  them. 

Into  one  more  retired  and  wild  recess  than  all  the 
others,  I  found  my  way  early  in  the  morning  of  May  18th, 
and  the  novelties  of  the  spot  were  too  many  to  give  less 
than  the  day  to  its  study  and  exploration,  The  prelimi- 
nary row  of  some  five  miles,  often  where  the  lake  was 
three  miles  wide,  was  of  itself  thoroughly  enjoyable,  al- 
though the  wind  was  dead  ahead  and  the  water  roughened 
until  angry  white-caps  necked  its  surface.  For  more  than 
an  hour  no  sound  was  borne  to  us  save  the  rippling  of  the 
waves  against  the  boat's  prow ;  but  who  asks  for  sweeter 
music  at  such  a  time  ?  The  air,  too,  had  all  the  snap  and 
sparkle  of  the  waters,  and  mere  living  to  breathe  it  was  a 
luxury. 

The  wind  fell  as  the  boat  neared  shore,  and  now  the 
oven-birds — and  there  seemed  a  legion  of  them — rang  out 
their  bell-toned  emphasis.  For  the  first  time,  too,  to  be 
positive  of  it,  I  heard  the  lisping  but  sweet  song  of  six  or 
seven  notes  of  the  Blackburnian  warbler.  These  exqui- 
site birds  were  really  abundant  all  that  day,  in  the  thicket 
of  dwarfish  aspens  and  the  tangled  undergrowth  beneath 
that  crowded  the  ravine  between  two  jutting  rocks ;  and, 
as  if  to  greet  me,  these  birds  came  to  the  front  row  of 
trees,  and  scanned  me  closely  while  I  landed.  They  were 

8 


114  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOOKS. 

extraordinarily  tame,  and  I  noticed  that  when  they  sang 
they  dropped  their  wings  and  caused  them  to  quiver  rap- 
idly ;  then  off  each  would  dart  in  quest  of  flies  with  all 
the  grace  and  restlessness  of  redstarts. 

The  aspens  were  not  in  full  leaf,  and  the  young  foliage 
was  of  a  pale  gray  green  that  made  a  most  fitting  back- 
ground for  the  deep  orange  breast  and  black  and  yellow 
head  of  this  rare  warbler. 

Sheltered  from  the  wind,  the  water  here  was  absolutely 
still  and  treacherously  clear.  Not  a  twig  of  any  over- 
hanging tree  but  was  faithfully  mirrored,  and  the  dividing 
line  between  the  upper  and  lower  world  could  not  be 
traced.  It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  the  boat  rested 
upon  water,  and,  quite  unguarded,  I  stepped  upon  a  shelf 
of  rock  that  seemed  not  more  than  an  inch  below  the 
surface ;  but  it  proved  to  be  nearly  twelve,  and  I  narrowly 
escaped  a  ducking  in  water  thirty  feet  in  depth.  My  ar- 
dor was  not  damped  if  my  feet  were,  and,  while  hesitating 
between  birds  and  botany,  a  brown  skink,  with  bright  red 
head,  darted  by  me  like  a  flash.  Although  I  had  scarcely 
standing  room,  I  made  a  break  for  him,  and  nearly  broke 
my  arms.  But  my  rashness  was  the  needed  lesson,  and 
to  salve  my  wounded  feelings  I  gathered  purple  trilliums, 
glaucous  corydalis,  and  other  unfamiliar  and,  to  me,  un- 
known bloom.  Then,  rounding  a  point  of  rocks  in  the 
boat,  I  found  a  better  chance  for  freedom  of  limbs,  and 
set  systematically  to  hunt  for  skinks.  But  to  hunt  suc- 
cessfully, one  must  wait  for  these  sly  lizards  to  show  them- 
selves, and  I  kept  my  eyes  upon  the  broad  surface  of  one 
great  wall  of  rock,  while  sitting  in  the  boat,  from  which 
only  a  view  could  be  had.  Very  soon  an  exclamation 
from  my  companion  announced  that  he  had  seen  one,  and 
I,  too,  soon  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  skulking  creature. 
Very  cautiously  the  boat  was  brought  closely  up  to  the 


MAY.  H5 

rock,  and,  with  a  lithe  switch,  I  at  last  made  one  desperate 
effort  to  brush  the  skink  into  the  lake,  but  succeeded 
only  in  sending  it  into  a  deep  crevice.  It  was  now  a 
prisoner,  but  quite  inaccessible  to  its  jailer,  and  I  tried 
many  ways  to  dislodge  it.  Finally  a  cold  douche  was 
employed,  which  forced  the  plucky  animal  to  make  a  leap 
for  life.  It  made  it,  and  landed  in  the  lake.  Here  its 
activity  was  inconsiderable,  and  I  readily  caught  it  with 
my  hand.  How  savagely  it  bit !  It  forced  its  little  teeth 
quite  through  my  skin,  and,  while  thus  expending  its 
strength,  my  companion  made  of  a  handkerchief  a  safe 
cage,  and  then  I  landed  with  the  feelings  of  a  triumphant 
warrior.  Vixen,  as  I  called  my  prisoner,  has  something 
of  a  history,  to  be  related  in  part  hereafter.  Suffice  it  now 
to  say  that  while  I  remained  at  the  lake,  and  for  weeks 
after  returning  home,  the  creature  was  ill-natured  and 
intractable  beyond  description.  Of  course,  in  the  mount- 
ains the  bite  of  the  skink  is  held  to  be  poisonous.  Every 
native  to  whom  I  showed  it  claimed  that  I  had  made  a 
very  narrow  escape,  and  urged  the  destruction  of  the  ani- 
mal. I  could  as  easily  have  annihilated  one  or  two  of  the 
mountaineers. 

What  birds  were  seen  to-day,  other  than  warblers,  did 
not  appear  to  be  migrating,  and  it  would  not  be  surpris- 
ing if  in  this  region  there  will  yet  be  found  single  pairs 
or  even  small  colonies  of  species  now  believed  not  to  breed 
south  of  New  England  or  even  Canada.  There  is  little 
need  to  discuss  the  question  ;  the  finding  of  the  nests  can 
alone  decide  it ;  but  I  am  very  positive  upon  one  point, 
that  New  Jersey,  and  even  the  central  portion  of  the  State, 
has  never  been  credited  by  ornithologists  with  its  full 
complement  of  breeding  birds. 

On  the  mountains'  sides,  at  least  where  they  slope  to 
the  lake,  a  species  of  ant  of  moderate  size,  black  and 


116  DAYS  OUT  Of  DOORS. 

brown,  was  very  abundant,  and  I  came  upon  many  nests. 
To-day  the  largest  of  these  were  found,  and  somewhat 
carefully  examined.  Those  that  I  found  near  Skink 
Eock,  as  I  have  called  the  spot,  were  great  dome-shaped 
structures,  built  of  sandy  earth,  with  short  bits  of  grass  so 
uniformly  through  the  mass  that  their  presence  was  prob- 
ably not  accidental,  but  had  much  to  do  with  the  stability 
of  the  walls  of  the  innumerable  mazy  passages.  The  least 
disturbance  caused  the  exterior  of  the  nest  to  crumble, 
and  yet  the  general  appearance  was  such  as  to  suggest 
considerable  age.  One  of  the  two  nests  found  to-day 
measured  six  feet  in  diameter  and  two  feet  six  inches 
in  height.  The  shape  was  that  of  a  flattened  cone. 
The  other  was  even  larger  but  not  so  regular  in  outline. 
This  I  cut  in  two  from  peak  to  surface,  with  an  oar-blade, 
and  so  procured  a  sectional  view  that  showed  a  curiously 
intricate  tunneling  throughout.  These  passages  were  all 
empty.  I  found  no  trace  of  larvae ;  no  evidence  that  these 
ants  had  slaves,  and  no  soldiers  to  protest  against  my  out- 
rageous conduct.  My  destructive  acts,  however,  very  nat- 
urally caused  an  intense  commotion,  and  the  rapid  running 
to  and  fro  over  the  dead  leaves  that  carpeted  the  ground 
made  a  noise  as  loud  as  and  very  similar  to  the  patter  of  a 
summer  shower.  And  twice  afterward,  when  rambling  in 
the  woods  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake,  I  stopped, 
thinking  it  had  commenced  to  rain,  although  the  sky  was 
clear,  and  found  that  I  had  been  deceived  by  the  noise 
made  by  thousands  of  these  ants  that  were  running  in 
every  direction,  intensely  excited  without  any,  to  me,  ap- 
parent cause. 

Strangely,  I  think,  during  my  whole  stay,  I  saw  no 
mammals,  or  traces  of  any,  except  a  solitary  red  squirrel 
and  numerous  chipmunks ;  yet  reports  of  minks,  musk- 
rats,  otters,  raccoons,  and  even  wild  cats  were  promptly 


MAY.  117 

forthcoming,  when  the  natives  were  questioned.  Not  one 
but  could  give  a  glowing  account  of  the  strange  "  varmints  " 
seen  in  his  time,  and  I  noticed  that  all  were  mentioned  as 
seen  during  the  winter  or  at  night,  and  always  in  the  least 
frequented  tracts  of  forest.  I  concluded  that  every  ani- 
mal named  was  really  scarce,  unless  it  be  musk-rats ;  and 
judging  from  my  own  experience,  a  mouse  at  midnight  is 
always  enormously  magnified. 

It  was  nearly  useless  to  look  along  the  lake  shore  for 
relics  of  the  red  man,  as  he  is  called,  although  men  with 
skins  less  red  never  existed.  The  raising  of  the  level  of 
the  water  some  ten  or  twelve  feet  necessarily  submerged 
all  village  sites.  At  present  the  name  alone  is  all  that 
suggests  the  ancient  Delawares,  Hopatcong  being  tortured 
Indian  for  where  the  wild  potato  grows.  As  this  plant 
does  not  bloom  until  August,  and  is  a  rather  inconspicu- 
ous vine  early  in  the  summer,  it  is  not  strange  that  I  failed 
to  notice  it. 

Long  ago  my  eye  had  caught  the  following  in  the 
New  Jersey  Historical  Collections :  "  On  Lake  Hopatcong 
there  is  a  regular  causeway  of  stone  running  from  an 
island  nearly  across  to  the  shore,  a  distance  of  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  It  was  no  doubt  made  by  the  Indians, 
and  was  a  work  of  great  labor,  the  lake  being  very  deep. 
The  water  is  now  a  little  above  it,  occasioned  by  the  rais- 
ing of  the  lake  for  the  Morris  Canal.  On  the  opposite 
shore  are  found  great  numbers  of  Indian  arrows  of  beauti- 
ful shape,  axes,  and  broken  jars ;  and  appearances  indi- 
cate that  it  was  the  site  of  an  Indian  village."  Nor  cause- 
way nor  relics  are  traceable  now,  and  disappointment  only 
awaits  the  archaeologist. 

Batrachian  life  in  all  its  glory  filled  every  available 
nook  of  the  shores  and  islands  of  the  lake.  Scarcely  a 


118  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

flat  stone  could  be  found  that  did  not  shelter  a  toad,  and 
every  mossy  pool  had  its  full  complement  of  frogs.  They 
were  all  more  silent  during  the  day  than  at  home,  and 
save  an  occasional  wood-frog  in  the  forest,  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  heard  them  at  all.  But  not  so  at  sunset ;  then  every 
one  came  from  its  damp  and  dark  retreat,  and  with  all 
its  strength  croaked,  clucked,  and  spluttered.  Though 
the  nights  were  cool,  even  the  toads  were  out  in  force, 
and  filled  the  valley  with  a  flood-tide  of  dolefulness.  This, 
of  all  sounds  in  nature,  is  the  most  gloomy ;  but  there  is 
a  grain  of  satisfaction  to  be  got  from  it — there  is  no 
better  evidence  that  summer  is  really  here.  I  do  not  say 
it  is  good  evidence — far  from  it ;  but  of  the  many  signs  of 
the  seasons,  no  one  is  better.  I  am  indifferent  to  the  alma- 
nac's dictum  of  June  21  as  the  proper  date.  If  there  is  a 
general  epithalamial  rejoicing  on  the  part  of  the  toads, 
then  frost,  if  it  comes,  is  not  baneful,  and  the  strawberries 
are  safe. 

As  was  so  plainly  the  case  with  the  birds,  I  could  de- 
tect no  difference  in  the  voices  of  the  batrachians  here, 
as  compared  with  those  of  their  meadow-dwelling  cousins, 
except  in  one  notable  instance.  The  great  bull-frog  here 
at  the  lake  has  a  more  metallic  note,  and  is  like  those  I 
have  heard  in  New  England,  and  differs  greatly  from  the 
smothered,  guttural  cry  of  the  same  creature  in  the  tide- 
water marshes. 

As  the  nights  were  still  cold,  I  was  surprised  to  find 
both  toads  and  frogs  so  active  and  vocal,  for  at  home,  a 
lowering  of  temperature  is  pretty  sure  to  silence  them, 
and  very  often  the  croaking  entirely  ceases.  But  none  of 
those  upon  the  western  shore  of  the  lake  felt  equal  to 
greeting  the  tardy  sunrise  ;  while  I  have  often  heard  them 
so  doing  in  south  Jersey,  where,  indeed,  it  is  one  of  na- 
ture's pleasant  sounds,  blending  admirably  with  the  songs 
of  the  birds. 


MAY.  119 

The  spring,  I  was  told,  was  neither  late  nor  early — a 
fortunate  circumstance  always ;  and  the  days  spent  upon 
the  lake  were  in  all  respects  such  as  a  rambler  hopes  for 
in  May — the  month  of  preparation,  of  many  promises. 
The  sun  shone  brightly  as  I  turned  my  face  homeward, 
and  my  last  glimpse  was  the  flash  of  leaping  waves — the 
glint  of  a  caldron  of  molten  gold.  , 

My  first  visit  to  May's  Landing  was  too  brief  and  too 
early,  and  a  longing  to  return  constantly  possessed  me. 
With  the  scent  of  mountain  woods  and  crystal  lake  still 
in  my  nostrils,  I  returned,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  realize 
that  from  the  one  point  to  the  other  is  but  one  hundred 
and  five  miles  as  the  crow  flies.  It  was  from  pole  to 
equator  in  every  essential  feature. 

Of  the  village  street  I  have  already  made  proper  men- 
tion. It  is  a  thoroughfare  that  other  country  towns 
might  study  to  advantage.  In  less  than  half  a  mile  there 
stand  in  or  near  the  sidewalks  more  than  a  score  of  noble 
oaks,  some  of  them  nine  feet  in  girth ;  while  from  mine 
host's  portico  I  counted  one  hundred  and  twenty-one  of 
these  princely  trees.  These  cast  their  cool  shadows  alike 
over  the  churches  and  court-house,  thus  offering,  after 
their  labors,  equal  comfort  to  wrangling  lawyers  and 
opinionative  priests. 

These  oaks  were  in  full  leaf  at  this  time,  and  I,  too,  a 
stranger,  found  their  cool  shadows  a  luxury  after  long  ex- 
posure to  the  glare  of  the  sun's  rays  where  they  fall  upon 
glittering  sand.  So  intensely  bright  is  the  light  that 
snow-blindness  might  be  produced.  But  why  mention 
such  trivial  matters?  One  might  as  well  complain  that 
water  sparkles.  In  truth,  these  so-called  barren  sands 
were  a  well-spring  of  delight.  Acres  of  them  were  now 
sparsely  covered  with  golden  Hudsonia — as  marked  a 
bloom,  and  almost  as  beautiful  as  arbutus  or  pyxie,  yet 


120  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

without  a  local  name !  Because  it  grows  before  the  vil- 
lagers' doors,  instead  of  in  a  swamp  a  mile  or  two  away, 
it  is  a  nameless  weed!  Had  it  been  rare  and  required 
sharp  eyes  to  detect,  the  choicest  spot  of  all  the  garden 
would  be  reserved  for  it. 

Whether  the  world  has  learned  the  fact  or  not,  there  is 
no  golden  bloom  more  beautiful  than  this.  The  slender, 
almost  thread-like  branches,  bearing  dusty,  gray-green 
leaves,  shape  themselves  into  stars,  circles,  and  rudely 
crumpled  mats,  while  over  all  is  showered  triply  polished 
gold,  so  thickly  often  that  the  plant  itself  is  hidden,  and 
there  rests  upon  the  glittering  sand  a  fragment  of  the  sun. 

Wherever  the  Hudsonia  was  found,  near  by  were  curi- 
ous vine-like  tangles  with  pretty  foliage,  often  a  rich  deep 
purple,  more  frequently  a  delicate  shade  of  green.  This 
plant,  unlike  the  preceding,  derives  its  beauty  from  the 
snow-white  background  and  from  the  rich  coloring  of  the 
stems  and  leaves — there  being  no  noticeable  bloom.  A 
weed,  too,  is  this  in  the  minds  of  the  villagers,  having  no 
name,  but  known  elsewhere  as  "false  ipecac,"  which  is 
little  better  than  no  name  at  all.  This  fact,  however,  car- 
ries no  influence  to  the  mind  of  the  rambler.  Not  a  way- 
side growth  at  home,  it  troubled  me  nothing  to  learn  that 
others  ignored  it.  Wandering  for  my  own  pleasure,  it 
stood  the  test  of  relative  merit  so  far  as  I  was  concerned ; 
for  it  never  failed  to  attract  and  command  my  attention, 
even  when  within  sight  of  more  pretentious  growths. 

Beneath  the  pines — a  forest  of  which  came  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  the  village — the  sand  was  not  covered 
with  vegetation,  beyond  patches  of  reindeer  moss  and  the 
yearly  crop  of  "  needles  "  shed  by  the  trees,  and  which 
appear  never  to  decay.  They  pleasingly  reflect  the  sun- 
light that  is  sifted  through  the  pines'  interlocking 
branches,  and  fill  the  long  vista  with  a  tinted  atmosphere 
in  which  every  object  stands  forth  with  startling  distinct- 


UNIVEBSl"' 


MAY.        sCAi\t  121 

ness  ;  and  provide,  too,  the  more  prosaic  but  no  less  im- 
portant condition  of  a  firm  foot-hold,  without  which  no 
ramble  is  an  unmixed  joy. 

At  such  a  place,  in  such  a  light,  I  chanced  upon 
purple  orchids  growing  in  great  profusion.  In  every  case 
they  stood  apart,  as  though  each  would  be  judged  by  its  ( 
own  merit,  and  borrow  nothing  from  its  neighbors. 
Aristocrats,  every  one  of  them,  in  the  true  and  not  dis- 
gusting sense  of  the  term. 

They  appeared  to  have  no  choice  in  the  matter  of  lo- 
cality, but  by  digging  down  a  little  I  found  traces  of  a 
black  mold,  and  it  was  evident  that  here,  at  least,  their 
nourishment  is  derived  from  decaying  wood.  These  flow- 
ers were  not  so  large  nor  so  darkly  tinted  as  many  I  have 
seen  from  nearer  home,  where  the  surroundings  are  totally 
different,  and  heavy  black  soil  in  upland  swamps  seems 
alone  suited  to  them.  There  need  be  no  discussion  as  to 
their  preferences  in  the  matter  of  locality.  No  change 
could  be  greater  than  from  the  dry  evergreen  wood  here 
to  the  cold  swamps  near  home,  where  grow  deciduous 
trees  almost  exclusively. 

At  another  point  —  where  the  land  was  swampy  and 
covered  with  a  mixed  growth  —  I  found  a  striking  row  of 
thirteen,  each  in  perfect  condition,  and  the  plants  of  a  re- 
markably uniform  height.  They  were  growing  along  the 
greatly  decayed  prostrate  trunk  of  a  pine  tree.  They  were 
all  quite  pale,  as  if  frightened  at  being  thirteen  at  a  table. 
If  so,  their  fears  were  realized,  for  I  plucked  one  as  I 
passed  by  ;  why,  I  can  not  say,  and  I  am  surprised  that 
I  did,  for  such  bloom  should  be  exempt  from  persecution. 

The  pines  here  are  of  two  species,  the  "  scrub  "  and  the 
pitch  pine  —  called  locally  "  two-leaf  "  or  "  smooth  bark," 
and  the  "  three-leaf  "  or  "  Indian."  What  is  meant  by  the 
"  bottle  pine  "  I  did  not  determine.  The  proportion  of 
each  is  not  readily  ascertained,  and  may  differ  a  good  deal 


122  DAYS   OUT  OF  DOORS. 

in  adjoining  neighborhoods.  About  the  village  there  are 
probably  twice  as  many  three-leaved  or  pitch  pines  as  of 
scrub  or  two-leaved.  But  this  is  immaterial.  The  trees 
that  I  saw  were  all  small,  the  third  or  fourth  growth,  per- 
i  haps,  but  still  large  enough  to  be  sheltering  trees,  and 
crowned  with  murmuring  branches. 

Unlike  most  constant  sounds,  this  of  the  wind  in  the 
pine-tree  tops  is  never  tiresome,  fitting  as  it  does  so  well 
with  the  loneliness  of  unfrequented  woods — for  these  woods 
are  lonely;  in  no  sense,  as  compared  with  forests  else- 
where, are  they  a  chosen  haunt  of  any  of  our  familiar 
birds,  and,  as  was  the  case  in  April,  I  saw  no  trace  of  any 
mammal  but  the  chickaree. 

This  arises  almost  certainly  from  the  uniformity  of  the 
locality  and  consequent  comparative  absence  of  both  ani- 
mal and  vegetable  food ;  and  not  unimportant  is  the  fact 
that  the  pine  tree  does  not  afford  much  concealment  for 
the  birds  themselves,  and  even  less  for  their  nests ;  but,  as 
I  continually  found,  the  moment  you  pass  the  bounds  of 
a  typical  "  pine  barren  "  and  reach  the  edge  of  a  swamp, 
or  even  dry  area — but  with  deciduous  trees  and  shrub- 
bery— the  birds  appear. 

In  the  village  proper  there  were  fourteen  species  of 
birds  in  such  numbers  as  one  might  expect  to  find  in  any 
country  town  with  shaded  streets  and  ample  gardens.  In 
the  "  deciduous  tree  "  and  swampy  portions  of  the  back 
woods  I  noted  but  eight  species,  but  one  of  which — the 
wood  thrush — is  included  in  the  village  list.  In  all  my 
rambles,  including  a  long  row  down  Great  Egg  Harbor 
River,  I  saw  and  unmistakably  identified  but  forty-four 
species — a  considerably  smaller  number  than  can  be  seen 
at  any  time  during  the  same  month  at  home.  Of  the  list, 
there  was  but  one  not  to  be  found  in  central  New  Jersey 
— the  log  cock  or  pileated  woodpecker.  The  mocking- 
bird— of  which  I  saw  one  specimen — is  as  rare  there  as 


MA  Y.  123 

farther  north.  A  somewhat  curious  feature  of  the  distri- 
bution of  the  birds  I  saw  will  be  referred  to  subsequently. 

Although  the  orchids  were  fascinating,  the  earth-stars 
curious,  and  a  scarlet-blooming  lichen  that  I  found  about 
the  roots  of  every  pine  was  a  mine  of  pleasure,  it  was 
nevertheless  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  I  detected  at  last 
a  sunlit  opening  in  the  distance.  I  hastened  thither  and 
found  for  a  considerable  space  no  evergreen  was  to  be 
seen  save  a  single  cedar,  and  all  was  fresh,  crisp,  and 
sparkling.  I  did  not  know  how  thirsty  I  was  until  I  saw 
the  water,  and  suspect  that  animals  of  nearly  every  kind 
love  the  sight  of  it,  even  if  it  is  not  a  necessity.  It  was  a 
woodland  basin  that  I  had  found,  with,  in  part,  quite  pre- 
cipitous sides,  and  a  dripping  spring  at  one  overhanging 
point  that  kept  the  ferns  "  a  nid,  nid,  nodding  "  where  the 
bright  drops  fell.  It  would  have  been  strange  if  no  birds 
had  appeared,  but  here  they  were,  seven  different  kinds, 
and  each  a  song-bird  of  merit.  Nor  were  they  silent.  The 
oven-birds  sang  continuously,  but  not  so  loudly  as  I  have 
heard,  while  the  single  indigo  finch,  the  chewinks,  and 
thrushes  sang  simply  as  they  always  do  wherever  they 
may  be. 

But  birds  alone  were  not  sufficient  for  such  a  spot,  and 
I  longed  for  the  sight  of  a  frog,  a  snake,  a  mouse  in  the 
grass  or  squirrel  among  the  trees.  No,  it  is  not  a  fancy, 
as  I  have  heard  it  said ;  these  regions,  beautiful  as  they 
are,  do  not  team  with  life  as  do  the  tamer  regions  nearer 
large  towns. 

The  pitcher-plants,  which  without  a  blossom  were 
so  attractive  a  feature  of  all  swampy  spots  during  my 
earlier  visit,  added  to  their  beauty  now  by  bearing  aloft 
on  straight,  stiff  stems  a  curiously  intricate  flower,  varying 
from  deep  red  to  purple,  the  ruddy  portion  surround- 
ing a  yellow  umbrella-shaped  growth,  the  short  handle  of 
which  is  an  ivory  globe. 


124  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

In  one  little  pool  near  the  woodland  basin,  which,  too, 
had  an  abundance  of  these  plants  and  lilies,  I  counted 
eighteen  pitchers  and  eight  of  the  curious  flowers.  With 
them  was  a  single  white  lily,  and  these  were  all  reflected 
in  a  pool  of  inky-black  water  so  distinctly  that  each  was 
duplicated  and  no  water  could  be  seen  a  few  paces  off. 
The  spot  was  surrounded  by  an  impenetrable  growth  of 
sapling  birches ;  and  quite  encircling  the  water's  edge  was 
a  narrow  fringe  of  glistening  filiform  sun-dews. 

It  is  such  places  as  these  pools,  swamps,  and  winding 
creeks  that  relieve  the  monotony  of  these  wonderful  "  bar- 
rens," and  will  ever  make  them  the  Meccas  of  out-door 
naturalists — or  will,  until  they  are  so  far  "  improved  " 
as  to  have  lost  those  features  that  now  attract.  This  done, 
an  utterly  tame,  if  not  actually  repulsive  spot  will  remain. 
A  deforested  tract  is  an  eye-sore  here,  and,  as  farm-land, 
will  be  little  better. 

In  the  opposite  direction  from  the  village,  or  south- 
ward, with  the  river  usually  in  sight,  I  found  a  region 
that  was  very  attractive,  and  quite  unlike  in  many  re- 
pects  any  meadow  or  swamp-land  of  the  Delaware  Valley. 

Here,  instead  of  in  the  village,  as  I  supposed  I  should, 
I  heard  song-sparrows,  cat-birds,  and  orioles — birds  that 
usually  do  not  seek  retired  localities ;  but  here  they  were 
at  home,  for  all  were  nesting ;  and  a  pair  of  tree-creeping 
warblers,  the  only  ones  I  saw,  took  my  intrusion  into  a 
thicket  of  stunted  oaks  so  much  to  heart  that  I  know 
they  too  had  a  nest.  Here,  too,  the  air  was  filled  with 
swallows,  and  the  crested  tit,  the  bird  of  all  others  that 
perhaps  I  love  the  best,  whistled  with  a  vim  no  other 
bird  attains,  H  sweet  here  !  't  sweet  here  !  and  the  wise  lit- 
tle chap  was  right.  It  was. 

The  forest  growth  was  of  little  moment,  except  the 
"  islands,"  as  the  clustered  cedars  that  grow  so  closely  that 


MAY.  125 

one  can  scarcely  pass  through  them  are  called.  When 
these  trees  occupy  but  a  comparatively  little  space,  and 
are  surrounded  by  open  country  or  deciduous  growths, 
they  certainly  are  as  prominent  a  feature  of  the  landscape 
as  are  the  isles  of  the  sea.  All  such  to-day,  and  there 
were  several  in  the  course  of  my  walk,  were  hurriedly 
passed  by,  although  deserving  of  attention ;  nor  were  the 
afflicted  gum  trees,  weighted  with  mistletoe,  more  than 
glanced  at.  There  was  too  great  a  wealth  of  bloom 
wherever  I  turned,  and  to  this  I  gave  all  my  thoughts, 
wondering  the  while  if  I  might  not  introduce  some  of 
them  into  the  woods  and  along  the  waysides  at  home. 

The  lupine  with  sky-colored  clusters ;  yellow  rock-rose 
—  with  no  rocks  within  half  a  hundred  miles ;  snowy 
sand  wort — little  else  within  that  distance;  sand  myrtle, 
a  pretty  evergreen,  with  clustered  ivory  bloom;  purple 
toad-flax  and  even  scraggly,  dwarfed  beach  plum ;  these 
all,  the  pretty  playthings  as  I  pass  through  the  village, 
and  thrown  aside  for  greater  novelty  when  I  reach  the 
edge  of  a  wood.  There  crimson  lambkill  dulled  all  other 
blooms  and  stayed  my  willing  footsteps.  A  by-road, 
over  which  wagons  seldom  pass,  was  lined  upon  one  side 
with  this  sweet  shrub.  It  was  not  strange  that  folly 
gained  the  upper  hand  in  such  a  spot,  and  I  had  almost 
completed  an  ill-rhymed  stanza,  when  the  road  itself  be- 
came more  interesting  than  the  flowers  attractive,  and  I 
was  promptly  restored.  This  road  was  simply  a  long  ribbon 
of  white  sand,  dotted  with  low  bushes  ;  but  the  ruts  were 
remarkably  distinct.  Examining  them,  I  found  what  at 
first  sight  appeared  to  be  grass,  proved  to  be  thread-like 
sun-dews,  as  thickly  set  as  blades  in  the  rankest  pastures. 
They  glittered,  too,  with  the  gummy  sap  that  ever  bathes 
them — a  condition  that  made  them  the  more  noticeable, 
for  it  was  now  high  noon,  and  nowhere  was  moisture  vis- 
ible. This  gummy  "  dew  "  proves  terribly  fatal  to  insects. 


126  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

Except  for  this,  the  plant  is  oh !  so  very  innocent  in  ap- 
pearance— I  have  seen  human  sun-dews — and  scarcely 
more  prominent  than  now,  when  its  dainty  pink  blossoms 
appear ;  but  all  this  is  but  a  part  of  a  deep-laid  scheme, 
for  it  depends  upon  animal  food  for  its  own  existence, 
and  destroys  and  devours  millions  of  minute  flies,  and, 
indeed,  many  of  a  larger  growth. 

I  found  also,  but  not  just  here,  another  species  with 
broad  and  almost  circular  leaves,  and  it  too  was  carnivor- 
ous as  a  cat. 

Still  on,  deeper  into  the  forest,  or  rather  forest  site, 
and  soon  the  lambkill  gave  way  to  another,  more  stately 
and  scarcely  less  beautiful  growth.  The  ground  was  now 
more  damp,  the  trees  more  vigorous,  and  all  other  under- 
growth was  replaced  by  the  exquisite  Leucothoe.  These 
bushes  were  laden  with  white,  waxy  balls  that  charged 
the  air  with  the  odor  of  vanilla.  One  cluster  that  I 
picked  had  twenty-two  flowers  on  a  single  stem,  in  an 
unbroken  row  and  just  free  of  actual  contact.  It  meas- 
ured exactly  six  inches  in  length.  As  I  held  the  stem  in 
a  horizontal  position,  I  was  not  much  surprised  that  locally 
the  plant  is  known  by  the  terrible  name  of  "  false  teeth." 
My  only  cause  for  wonderment  is,  that  the  more  refined  ele- 
ment of  the  community  should  not  have  replaced  it  with 
something  both  appropriate  and  pleasant ;  especially,  as 
the  botanical  name  has  nothing  to  commend  it. 

The  limit  of  my  rambls  was  a  denuded  tract  of  liter- 
ally barren  sand,  where  probably  not  a  dozen  species  of 
plants  grew,  and  all  were  inconspicuous  but  one.  For  the 
first  time  I  say  in  full  bloom  the —  buzzard  weed !  No, 
the  turkey  beard  !  Is  it  not  strange  that  more  than  a 
century  should  pass,  and  these  plants  familiar  the  while 
to  intelligent,  flower-loving  people,  and  yet  they  should 
not  have  rescued  them  from  the  jargon  of  those  outer 
barbarians,  the  charcoal-burners  ?  Professional  botanists, 


MAY.  127 

of  course,  will  tell  you  it  is  the  Xerophyllum  setifolium — 
but  something  prettier  for  common  use,  please,  learned 
gentlemen. 

It  was  indeed  strange  to  see  a  lily  growing  in  such  a 
barren,  utterly  forsaken  spot  as  this ;  for  the  Xerophyllum 
is  a  member  of  that  blue-blooded  tribe,  and  holds  its 
head  aloft  more  haughtily  than  gaudy  Turk's-cap  or  the 
spotted  tiger. 

From  a  cluster  of  grass-like  leaves,  themselves  a  foot 
or  more  in  length,  and  as  harsh  to  the  touch  as  bits  of 
flattened  wire,  there  towers  a  cylindrical,  greenish- white 
stalk,  covered  with  hair-like  leaves,  and  crowned  with  a 
pyramidal  raceme.  The  delicate  flowers  open  at  the  base 
at  first,  and  then  daily  add  to  their  numbers,  until  the 
top  is  expanded,  when  we  have  an  oval,  feathery  mass 
of  purely  white  blossoms,  waxy,  and  golden  at  their 
centers. 

The  scent  of  roses,  alas !  does  not  cling  to  them. 
Rather  an  odor  that  perhaps  has  caused  them  to  be  with- 
out the  pale  of  lilydom. 

My  visit  ended  with  a  long  row  down  the  river — Great 
Egg  Harbor  Eiver,  as  it  has  long  been  named,  "  from  the 
fact  that,  in  Indian  times,  it  was  near  its  mouth  a  great 
resort  for  breeding  sea-birds,"  at  least  so  runs  the  record 
that  I  have.  I  doubt  not  but  that  here,  too,  far  from 
the  mouth,  there  once  nested  many  inland  birds,  and  this 
is  based  on  the  fact  that  no  sooner  had  I  reached  the 
water's  edge  than  I  heard  familiar  birds,  not  one  of  which 
was  seen  in  the  woods.  But  to  this  I  shall  return. 

The  old  wharf  is  not  now  a  scene  of  busy  industry, 
and  the  river,  at  low  tide,  is  little  more  than  a  shallow 
creek,  with  weedy  bottom  and  tortuous  sand-bars.  Trade 
has  found  new  channels,  but  we  proposed  a  voyage  along 
the  old,  and  embarked  in  the  Iva,  a  misshapen  and  ponder- 


128  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

ous  row-boat  that,  having  carried  me  many  miles,  should 
be  mentioned  with  respect ;  so  no  more  of  the  Iva. 

The  vigorous  notes  of  an  excited  vireo,  the  noisy  white- 
eye,  were  propitious,  I  thought,  and  my  companion,  an 
able  bodied  oarsman,  struck  out  into  the  stream,  inspired 
by  them ;  but  the  initial  vigor  was  not  long  maintained, 
thanks  to  the  ponderous — I  mean,  safe  Iva. 

Strange  waters,  even  more  promptly  than  fresh  woods 
and  pastures  new,  arouse  the  rambler's  enthusiasm,  and 
the  tide- worn  banks  of  the  river  were  closely  scanned  as 
we  passed  down  stream. 

The  birds  of  home  were  here  abundant,  and  I  was 
much  surprised  to  find  only  along  the  river's  shores  many 
species  that  are  common  in  gardens  and  orchards  gener- 
ally, even  such  familiar  ones  as  the  Gong-sparrow  and  cat- 
bird, which  were  not  seen  in  the  village,  but  were  common 
here.  The  birds,  the  yellow  splatter-dock,  and  trees  of 
many  kinds  gave  the  river,  at  the  outset,  a  familiar  look, 
and  I  recalled  the  terminal  mile  or  more  of  Crosswicks 
Creek;  but  soon  a  great  difference  was  apparent.  The 
dock  gave  place  to  golden  club,  the  rarest  of  large  aquatic 
growths  at  home,  and  greater  interest  centers  in  it  than 
the  former,  which  certainly  is  painfully  prosaic.  At  high 
tide  the  leaves  are  submerged,  and  as  we  passed  over  them 
they  shone  through  the  amber- tinted  waters  as  iridescent 
bronze,  producing  a  beautiful  effect  that  was  the  more 
striking  when  great  shoals  of  silvery  roach,  turning  their 
glittering  sides  to  us,  passed  quickly  through  the  narrow 
space  between  the  plants  and  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

In  one  respect,  however,  this  plant  had  suffered  here. 
The  pure  ivory-white  and  untarnished  gold  of  the  clubs 
were  sadly  marred  by  a  dull-green  deposit,  such  as  I  had 
never  seen  in  the  meadows  at  home. 

The  stream,  before  we  had  gone  a  mile,  was  quite  broad, 
and  the  unobstructed  breeze  rippled  the  water  and  brought 


MAY.  129 

pleasant  sounds  from  the  woods  upon  the  western  shore. 
These  drew  us  nearer  to  the  clean  white  sands  of  the 
little  beach.  The  sapling  growths  along  the  water's  edge 
teemed  with  song-birds,  even  the  tree-creeping  warbler 
lisping  with  an  energy  that  suggested  the  stimulating  air 
of  the  mountains.  Finally,  a  thrush,  perched  upon  the 
trembling  top  twig  of  an  oak,  invited  us  ashore  with  such 
persuasive  eloquence  that  the  Iva  was  beached,  and  we  left 
it  for  a  brief  upland  ramble. 

Scarcely  had  I  gone  a  rod  before  I  noticed  a  toad, 
and  then  another  and  another.  They  were  all  of  such 
pale  coloring  as  to  be  quite  inconspicuous,  and  had  they 
not  voluntarily  moved  about  I  should  probably  not  have 
seen  them.  The  cause  of  their  activity  could  only  be 
guessed,  and  as  they  were  so  striking  in  appearance  I 
stopped  to  watch  them.  The  pale  pepper-and-salt  mot- 
tling of  their  skins  was  a  beautiful  instance  of  protective 
coloring,  and  one  which  they  stood  well  in  need  of,  for 
herons  and  bitterns  both  abound  and  pace  these  shores 
by  night.  The  result  of  my  brief  observation  leads  me  to 
ask :  Does  protective  coloring  ever  serve  the  useful  pur- 
pose of  enabling  the  animal  to  approach  the  more  easily 
within  capturing  distance  of  its  prey  ?  One  of  these  toads, 
which  I  carefully  watched  for  several  minutes,  often 
changed  its  position  by  very  deliberate  movements,  always 
keeping  closely  to  the  sand  and  never  hopping.  The 
appearances  were  all  suggestive  of  cautious  approach, 
and  yet  I  saw  no  insect,  minute  crustacean,  or  any  living 
creature  upon  which  they  would  be  likely  to  prey. 

Leaving  the  toads,  I  climbed  the  sandy  bluff  for  a  wood- 
land ramble,  but  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
charcoal  fiend  had  been  at  work,  and  a  wide  tract  of  de- 
nuded country  was  spread  out  before  me,  concealed  from 
us  when  in  the  boat  by  a  narrow  fringe  of  trees  and  rank 
shrubbery,  which  we  had  taken  for  the  edge  of  a  forest. 
9 


130  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

I  had  now  an  explanation  of  the  curiously  mingled  char- 
acter of  the  black  and  white  sand  that  formed  both  bluff 
and  beach — it  was  charcoal-dusted  white  sand. 

The  "barren"  was  a  paradise  of  "turkey  beards" 
and  prickly  pear,  the  latter  growing  more  thriftily  here 
than  in  the  sand  lots  near  the  village.  It  was  not  yet  in 
bloom.  The  two  plants  gave  the  spot  a  semi-tropical 
look,  so  different  are  they  from  all  our  other  growths. 

Nowhere  did  there  seem  to  be  any  animal  life,  verte- 
brate or  invertebrate,  except  a  few  spiders.  Leaving  the 
belt  of  trees  upon  the  bluff,  it  was  simply  plunging  into  a 
little  desert,  and  when  you  have  gone  far  enough  to  be 
beyond  the  voices  of  the  birds  the  silence  is  very  impress- 
ive. A  curious  incompleteness  marks  much  of  this  region. 
These  barren  tracts  seem  fitted  for  many  a  lower  form  of 
life,  yet,  as  I  recalled  one  after  another,  it  was  only  to  fail 
to  find  any  trace  of  them.  Even  snakes  were  absent,  al- 
though I  had  been  assured  that  the  great  spotted  pine 
snake  was  by  no  means  rare.  Had  there  been  no  scattered 
shrubbery,  the  conditions  could  have  been  more  readily 
explained,  as  without  vegetation  the  insect  life  would  be 
reduced  to  a  minimum,  and  animals  that  subsist  upon  it 
would  be  wanting ;  and  these  being  food  for  other  forms 
also  wanting,  the  higher  vertebrates  could  not  exist. 
Doubtless,  such  tracts,  being  valueless  except  for  timber, 
unless  they  are  gradually  reoccupied  by  trees,  will  remain 
in  their  present  sadly  desolate  condition. 

Baking  to  our  boat  again,  we  rowed  to  a  marshy  island 
toward  the  opposite  shore.  There  were  some  eight  or  ten 
acres  in  the  tract,  which  was  now  out  of  water,  but  at 
high  tide  is  submerged.  Golden  club,  to  the  exclusion  of 
every  other  growth,  covered  it.  The  plant  was  in  full 
bloom,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  unlike  that  in  the  river 
above,  in  being  free  of  any  sedimentary  deposit.  Every 
leaf  was  clean,  every  club  unsoiled. 


MAY.  131 

Such  an  island  as  this  was  an  invaluable  plantation  to 
the  Indians  in  days  gone  by.  Did  they  lend  a  hand  in 
planting  this,  or  was  it  Nature's  unaided  handiwork  ?  It 
is  certain  that  the  Indians  introduced  this  plant  into 
spring-ponds  far  away  from  running  streams,  where  it 
has  continued  to  flourish  unto  this  day;  and  if  the 
mud-flat  or  marshy  island  here  is  some  two  centuries  old 
or  older,  which  is  not  improbable,  there  is  nothing  very 
startling  in  the  suggestion  that  it  was  originally  a  "  Taw- 
kee  "  field. 

"  The  American  Indian,  at  the  time  of  the  discovery 
of  the  continent  and  its  early  settlement,  was  a  savage,  liv- 
ing upon  the  game  and  fish  he  captured,"  etc. ;  so  runs 
the  average  statement  of  oar  school  geographies  and  out- 
line histories,  and  a  greater  error  never  crept  into  print. 

It  will  be  difficult,  if  it  is  possible  at  this  late  day,  to 
change  the  current  of  opinion ;  but  the  statement  is  abso- 
lutely false.  Let  him  who  doubts  read  Carr's  history  of 
the  Indian  as  an  agriculturist.  It  was  not  a  mere  matter 
of  a  melon  patch  and  a  little  field  of  maize,  but  hun- 
dreds of  well-tilled  acres  and  orchards  containing  thou- 
sands of  trees. 

A  third  landing  was  at  one  of  those  garden  spots  that 
no  one  loving  a  flower  can  pass  by  unheeded.  The  bluff 
was  wooded  to  the  very  brink,  and  everywhere  among  the 
scrubby  oaks  and  dwarf  pines  grew  rock-rose,  Hudsonia, 
lambkill,  and  viburnum;  masses  of  white,  yellow,  and 
pink.  With  it  all  were  birds  of  many  kinds  and  one 
great  mystery.  The  familiar  song  of  the  marsh  wren  was 
frequently  heard,  yet  it  was  not  a  locality  where  an  orni- 
thologist would  expect  to  find  that  bird.  This  piqued  my 
curiosity,  and  I  searched  for  the  bird  most  carefully. 
Presently  a  gray  lizard  appeared  upon  a  pine  tree  before 
me,  and  while  stooping  down  to  catch  it  a  yellow-breasted 


132  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

chat  flew  to  an  overhanging  branch  of  the  same  tree  and 
sang,  imitating  the  wren's  song  to  perfection.  It  did  not 
mingle  it  with  the  usual  series  of  uncouth  cries,  but  gave 
it  alone  while  sitting ;  and  then,  after  a  distinct  pause, 
commenced  the  barking,  coughing,  spluttering,  ventrilo- 
quial  medley  characteristic  of  the  chat.  Familiar  as  I 
have  been  for  years  with  this  bird,  this  is  the  only  in- 
stance of  the  kind  that  has  fallen  under  my  observation. 

Our  final  landing  was  at  a  beautiful  point  formed  by 
the  river  turning  slightly  from  a  straight  course.  Here 
cedars  grew  in  great  profusion,  and,  indeed,  to  the  exclusion 
of  other  trees.  It  was  not  only  a  beautiful  but  a  com- 
manding point,  and  I  was  not  surprised,  directly  upon 
landing,  to  find  abundant  traces  of  the  Indian,  Chips  of 
jasper  and  bits  of  pottery,  these  were  all ;  yet  they  told 
the  story  of  the  "  wild  Indian,"  as  he  is  called,  as  fully  as 
though  we  had  found  his  weapons,  ornaments,  and  agri- 
cultural tools.  Here,  I  think,  had  been  a  temporary 
camping  ground ;  one  periodically  visited,  and  not  a  per- 
manent village  site.  I  had  come  here  in  hopes  of  finding 
it  the  latter,  but  the  absence  of  village  indications,  as  I 
have  found  them  elsewhere  throughout  the  State,  was  com- 
plete. There  was  even  no  considerable  accumulation  of 
clam-shells,  so  that  the  spot  could  not  even  be  classed 
under  the  somewhat  indefinite  term  of  kitchen-midden. 
But  what  was  found — chips,  sherds,  and  a  bit  of  worked 
bone — proved  sufficient  to  spur  the  imagination,  and  on 
the  return  trip  I  pictured  this  river  and  its  banks  as 
they  once  were,  and  peopled  it  with  our  predecessors,  who, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  treated  it  more  judiciously  than  we 
have  done — extracting  its  sweets  without  draining  its  very 
life-blood. 

And  with  this  thought,  we  returned  the  Iva  to  her 
owner  and  became  landsmen  again. 


MAT.  133 

This  whole  region,  I  am  told,  is  one  great  "  pine  bar- 
ren." It  is  so  marked  upon  the  official  map,  and  so  re- 
ported by  the  State  Geologist ;  but  it  is  well  not  to  be 
misled  by  this  vaguely  descriptive  term,  for,  while  there 
are  acres  that  are  the  abode  of  desolation,  there  are  also, 
and  far  more  frequently,  nature- plan  ted  gardens,  un- 
matched by  any  this  great  continent  over. 

In  '88, 1  spent  the  month  at  home,  and  every  day  had 
its  notable  adventure.  Indeed,  does  not  every  hour  have 
its  tragedy  or  comedy  ? 

As  we  all  know,  poets  have  a  "  corner  "  in  May  day, 
and  let  them.  Do  not  suppose  it  is  the  only  merit  of  the 
month.  Indeed,  if  it  be  hot  and  sunny,  it  is  not  a  time 
for  unalloyed  pleasure.  The  noon-tide  is  too  like  mid- 
summer. 

I  chose  the  fourth  for  my  first  considerable  outing, 
with  its  clouds  and  brief  showers ;  and  how  far  wisely,  let 
others  decide.  For  me,  at  least,  it  was  a  red-letter  day. 

Bound  riverward,  we  had  the  tide  to  baffle  with  un- 
willing oars,  for  rowing  is  irksome  at  best,  unless  one's 
thought  is  only  for  his  muscles.  Slowly  working  our  way 
against  the  swift  current  that  swirled  between  the  pier  and 
abutments  of  the  ancient  bridge,  we  foolishly  looked  up- 
ward as  a  wagon  passed  over  us,  as  though  by  so  doing 
we  might  escape  some  danger,  or  expected  to  see  the  horse 
drop  down  upon  us,  and  received  the  just  due  of  our 
thoughtlessness  in  a  shower  of  dust  that  smarted  both  our 
eyes  and  nostrils. 

I  have  passed  under  this  bridge  a  hundred  times  or 
more,  and  whenever  a  wagon  crosses  it  at  that  moment,  I 
always  do  this  worse  than  childish  thing  and  receive  the 
merited  punishment  therefor.  Experience  has  taught  me 
nothing;  never  will.  Verily,  "what  fools  these  mor- 
tals be." 


134  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

A  shallower  and  wider  portion  of  the  stream  once 
reached,  we  all  breathed  more  freely,  and  full  of  anticipa- 
tion, if  not  of  novelty,  at  least  of  cheerful  sights,  we  found 
ourselves  alone  with  woods  and  waters  and  a  solitary 
crow.  Its  cawing  was  not  unmusical,  then  and  there. 
We  fancied  it  the  prompter's  call  and  warning  that  the 
audience  was  in  waiting.  Whether  the  birds  that  morn- 
ing saw  fit  to  play  us  a  trick  or  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  lone  crow's  ringing  voice,  we  shall  never  know ;  but 
the  music  of  our  dipping  oars,  the  ripple  of  the  tide  be- 
neath the  prow,  and  the  distant  tinkling  of  a  cow-bell  in 
the  marsh,  were  all  we  heard.  Here,  then,  was  ready  nature 
waiting  for  the  unready  birds ;  and  with  a  tinge  of  disap- 
pointment that  so  much  of  our  course  was  without  song, 
we  reached  a  narrower  winding  of  the  creek,  sparsely 
shaded  by  the  half -leaved  trees:  here  were  music  and 
beauty  blended.  Swallows  in  mid-air,  greenlets  in  the 
willows,  and  afar  off  the  crested  redbird  warbled  and 
whistled  without  rest,  while  the  scarlet  tanager  flashed 
like  a  winged  flame  through  the  snowy  branches  of  the 
bitter  plum.  Rounding  a  sudden  bend,  we  startled  the 
great  blue  heron  from  his  perch,  which  joined  his  soaring 
mate  high  overhead,  and  for  long  they  circled  above  us  as 
we  hurried  by,  eager  for  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new. 

Not  alone  were  the  trees  in  the  flood-tide  of  their 
glory ;  the  meadows  were  starred  with  brilliant  marigold, 
and  the  banks  of  many  an  inflowing  brook  were  fretted 
and  streaked  with  the  ivory  and  gold  wands  of  the  rank 
orontium. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  Bonapartes  as 
Frenchmen,  he  who  lingers  along  the  wooded  south  shore 
of  Crosswicks  Creek,  from  a  mile  or  more  above  and  down- 
ward to  its  junction  with  the  Delaware,  will  recall  with 
gratitude  the  amiable  Joseph,  who  once  dwelt  here,  and  be 
duly  thankful  that  he  was  so  skillful  a  landscape  gardener. 


HAY.  135 

I  do  not  know  to  what  extent  the  tract  was  a  forest 
when  Bonaparte  bought  it,  but  it  is  well  known  that  the 
illustrious  exile  was  an  ardent  lover  of  trees,  and  planted 
many  a  hundred  in  his  park  of  one  thousand  acres.  But 
the  creek  bank  always  was,  as  it  still  is,  a  natural  arbore- 
tum, and  contains  a  greater  variety  of  trees  than  any  other 
tract  of  the  same  area  within  a  radius  of  many  miles. 
But  time  and  circumstance  put  us  in  no  statistical  mood ; 
we  cared  little  then  for  the  romantic  history  of  the  spot, 
and  even  less  for  its  purely  botanical  aspect.  The  min- 
gling of  every  shade  of  green,  from  the  gloomy  cedars,  look- 
ing almost  black,  to  the  palest  of  the  freshly  budding  oaks ; 
the  lichen-draped  branches  of  the  two-leaved  pine  and 
trembling  blossoms  of  the  feathery  June-berry,  were  here 
too  marked  a  feature  of  the  landscape  to  permit  our  haste, 
and  we  merely  stemmed  the  tide  while  skirting  the  bluff. 

I  would  not  that  any  word  of  mine  should  be  con- 
strued as  unfavorable  to  strolling  overland,  but  the  vague 
shadow  of  a  doubt  vexes  me  when  I  compare  my  upland 
with  my  water  rambles.  It  is  of  evident  importance  to 
get  a  comprehensive  view  of  one's  surroundings,  and  this 
you  can  often  do  when  in  a  boat ;  from  which,  too,  we 
catch  glimpses  of  a  wilder  side  of  the  world  than  is  ever 
turned  to  the  public  road.  Few  now  are  the  lanes  and 
byways  that  are  paths  in  a  wilderness ;  but  here  the  creek 
margined  a  narrow  reach  of  unmolested  nature,  where 
even  the  sly  otter  dared  to  have  his  slide.  We  did  not  see 
the  wary  creature  to-day.  Perhaps— but  no,  I  will  con- 
fess it,  we  even  could  not  find  his  tracks.  But  local  Nim- 
rods— most  veracious  of  men— have  hinted  of  his  ottership 
so  often  that  the  story  added  its  charm  to  the  steep  and 
slippery  ribbon  of  faintly  furrowed  clay  leading  from  one 
great  overhanging  tree  down  to  the  water's  edge.  Wheth- 
er the  spot  was  an  otter-slide  or  not,  that  the  animal  could 
slip  from  his  nest  among  the  beech  tree's  roots— if  he  has 


136  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

one  there — to  the  creek,  would  never  be  questioned,  and  I, 
for  one,  ignored  a  bowlder  in  the  water,  suspiciously  in 
line  with  the  bared  strip  of  hill-side,  for  fear  some  doubt- 
ing Thomas  might  throw  discredit  on  the  time- honored 
playground  of  the  unseen  otter. 

Hoping  against  hope  that  this  rare  creature  might  show 
himself,  if  but  to  silence  doubt,  we  long  looked  backward 
until  the  bending  bushes  closed  the  view.  Then  recalling 
stern  reality,  we  regretted  the  base  use  to  which  the  once 
noble  park  was  now  largely  put,  and  with  a  few  vigorous 
strokes  of  our  oars  we  "darted  between  the  close  set  pilings 
of  a  second  bridge  and  sent  our  craft  spinning  over  the 
sparkling  waters  of  the  river.  No  change  could  be  more 
sudden,  more  complete.  We  were  no  longer  hemmed  in 
between  bluff  and  meadow,  so  near  that  either  could  be 
closely  scanned,  but  out  upon  really  open  water,  for  here 
the  river  is  a  full  mile  in  width. 

The  clouds  had  thickened  before  we  left  the  creek  and 
now  threatened  the  mild  disaster  of  our  being  lost  in  a 
fog ;  but  we  braved  this  and  all  other  dangers  and  skirted 
either  shore  as  the  element  of  wildness  proved  in  the 
ascendant,  or  made  a  straight  course  down  stream  far 
from  either  shore.  When  not  in  mid-river  we  had  warbler 
music  in  excess,  for  to-day  the  willows  teamed,  for  the 
first  time,  with  these  beautiful  migrating  songsters.  Per- 
haps, they  were  too  tired  or  too  hungry  to  sing  their  best 
songs,  but  I  was  not  alone  in  thinking  that  sweeter  than 
any  efforts  of  theirs  were  the  united  voices  of  the  teetering 
sandpipers.  Continually,  when  we  were  in  mid-stream, 
they  crossed  our  bow,  greeting  us  in  a  wild,  winsome  way 
that  lightened  the  gray-black  clouds  and  made  us  quite 
forget  that  a  shower  was  imminent ;  and  whenever  the 
wind  fell,  from  the  distant  shores  their  clear  call  could 
still  be  heard,  as  they  tripped,  lightly  as  the  waves,  along 
the  pebbly  shore. 


MAY.  137 

I  have  mentioned  the  willows  along  shore.  The  species 
is  a  matter  of  some  uncertainty,  perhaps,  but  probably 
the  Salix  nigra.  At  all  events  I  can  testify  that  the  re- 
mark in  Gray's  botany,  "  With  the  branches  very  brittle 
at  the  base,"  is  quite  true  of  those  that  grow  here.  It 
needs  but  a  single  effort  to  climb  into  one,  to  be  satisfied 
on  this  point.  These  trees  were  planted  at  the  very  out- 
set of  the  European  occupation  of  the  country,  to  resist 
the  eroding  action  of  the  water,  and  particularly  of  fresh- 
ets ;  and  now,  in  land  that  has  been  lost  to  cultivation, 
notwithstanding  this  care,  are  many  of  these  old  willows — 
broken,  cavernous,  the  very  acme  of  dilapidation,  yet  vigor- 
ous withal.  Such  trees  harbor  enormous  numbers  of  in- 
sects, both  winged  and  in  a  larval  state,  and  are  naturally 
at  this -time  of  the  year  the  haunts  par  excellence  of  the 
migrating  warblers.  Here  are  to  be  found  those  rare 
forms  known  only  to  professional  ornithologists,  and  not 
always  to  them.  Here,  too,  are  earliest  heard  our  vireos  or 
greenlets ;  all  songsters,  but  of  different  degrees  of  merit. 
The  most  marked,  perhaps,  is  the  yellow-throat,  that  sings 
with  its  whole  body,  as  though  the  notes  were  shaken 
from  its  feathers ;  and  as  different  as  possible  from  the 
robin-toned  quaver  of  the  restless  redeye. 

Mile  after  mile  we  marked  at  distant  points  solitary 
cabins  close  to  the  water's  edge.  Forsaken  the  greater 
part  of  the  year,  they  are  tenanted  now,  and  the  shore 
near  by  is  the  scene  of  busy  industry.  The  fishermen  are 
reaping  the  single  harvest  that  this  long  river  yields,  the 
shoals  of  shad  and  herring.  These  fish  are  now  bound 
upward  to  their  spawning-grounds,  and  strange  it  is  that 
ever  one  reaches  the  desired  goal.  As  we  passed  by,  our 
sympathy  was  with  the  fisher  rather  than  the  fish,  and 
we  hoped  that  every  sweep  of  the  seine  might  land  a 
mighty  draught  of  fishes.  But  the  toilers  were  not  in 
luck ;  not  nearly  so  much  as  I,  who,  taking  a  short  walk 


133  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

by  way  of  change,  saw  many  a  pretty  bird,  heard  others 
sing,  and  found  a  fish-crow  lying  upon  the  sand.  This  is 
to  me  an  interesting  bird ;  the  more  so,  because  so  gener- 
ally confounded  with  the  common  one. 

In  March  or  April,  as  the  weather  proves,  fish-crows 
appear  in  scanty  numbers  along  the  river,  following,  I 
think,  the  spring  migration  of  the  shad  and  herring; 
and  about  each  fisherman's  cabin  a  pair  is  very  likely 
to  be  found.  Although  so  much  smaller  than  the  com- 
mon crow,  with  a  very  different  cry,  and  given  to 
hawk-like  soaring  over  the  river,  these  differences  have 
not  generally  been  noticed,  and  the  strange  impression  has 
arisen  that  a  fish  diet  had  the  effect  of  making  crows 
foolish,  for  so  the  fishermen  think  these  much  less  wary 
birds  must  be — dolts,  as  it  were,  from  the  common  crowd 
of  crows. 

I  have  known  them  to  become,  at  times,  almost  as  fa- 
miliar, but  never  as  impudent,  as  magpies ;  and,  waiting 
until  the  boat  is  manned  and  the  shore  deserted,  they  walk 
to  the  very  cabin  door,  hunting  for  scraps,  and  always 
searching  the  debris  left  at  the  water's  edge  where  the 
seine  is  drawn  ashore.  Were  these  birds  protected  and  en- 
couraged, they  would  become,  I  doubt  not,  useful  scaven- 
gers; but  unfortunately  the  unmerited  curse  of  being  a 
crow  rests  upon  them,  and  the  average  fisherman  is  un- 
teachable. 

The  prominent  incident  of  the  day  occurred  when  I 
reached  a  bend  in  the  river  where  stands  the  bleached 
trunk  of  a  tall,  dead  tree.  In  its  present  forlorn  condi- 
tion it  has  doubtless  withstood  the  storms  of  many  a 
winter ;  but,  though  trembling  in  every  breeze,  and  threat- 
ening to  fall  whenever  the  wind  freshens,  the  well- 
anchored  roots,  grasping  the  drifted  rocks,  have  strength 
yet  to  prevent  its  overthrow,  and,  notwithstanding  its 
apparent  insecurity,  it  is  trusted  by  the  birds. 


MAY.  139 

As  I  reached  the  tree,  coveting  its  outlook  far  up  and 
down  the  river,  a  sparrow-hawk  flew  from  a  hollow  in 
the  trunk,  and  then  turning  hovered  above  me  in  an 
anxious  manner.  I  knew  at  once  that  the  bird  was  nest- 
ing there.  The  opening  to  the  nest  was  small  and  no 
projection  offered  a  foot-hold  to  the  bird  when  entering, 
but  this  did  not  seem  to  disconcert  it. 

I  presently  withdrew  a  short  distance,  and  the  bird  re- 
entered  the  tree  with  the  same  rapidity  and  command  of 
movement  characteristic  of  the  bank- swallows.  It  was  a 
beautiful  sight.  I  then  returned  to  the  tree  and  slapped 
the  trunk  smartly  with  my  hand,  when  the  hawk  promptly 
re-appeared  and  also,  to  my  surprise,  from  a  hole  but 
three  or  four  feet  lower  down,  a  flicker  came  bouncing 
out.  Again  I  withdrew,  when  both  the  hawk  and  wood- 
pecker returned.  Here,  then,  were  two  birds  of  very  dif- 
ferent habits,  save  that  of  nesting  in  hollow  trees,  and  one 
of  them  a  bird  of  prey,  living  in  the  same  tree  in  perfect 
harmony. 

It  may  be  no  uncommon  occurrence,  but  I  have  not  in 
my  own  wanderings  met  with  another  instance,  nor  recall 
any  record  of  one. 

The  day,  like  all  such,  proved  too  full ;  there  was  more 
well  worthy  of  study  that  we  hurried  by  than  I  have  men- 
tioned in  my  rambling  way.  And  now,  a  few  retrospective 
words  as  I  return.  Three  truly  spring-like  days  had 
wrought  a  wondrous  change.  The  wealth  of  life  along 
the  river's  shores  to-day  had  largely  reached  this  valley  in 
that  time,  for  April,  '88,  will  long  be  remembered  as  a 
strictly  winter  month. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JUNE. 

AN  uninvited  townsman  followed  me  to  the  woods  re- 
cently, and  when  I  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a  favorite  tree, 
asked,  "  What  have  we  here  ?  "  "  Heaven  for  one,"  I  re- 
plied, which  he  construed  as  meaning  the  opposite  for 
two.  He  was  right.  What  a  comfort  it  is  to  be  correctly 
interpreted  ! 

Nature  speaks  freely  to  the  individual,  but  seldom  ha- 
rangues a  crowd ;  and  never  is  she  so  communicative  as  in 
June.  It  is  desirable,  therefore,  above  all  other  time,  to 
ramble  alone,  for  actual  solitude,  which  I  dread,  shadows 
our  path  only  when  the  chatter  of  men  drowns  the 
weightier  croaking  of  the  frogs. 

As  May  teemed  with  the  noise  and  bustle  of  prepara- 
tion, so  June — the  preparative  work  being  over — rests  and 
offers  for  contemplation  nature  finished.  The  foliage  of 
to-day  will  not  be  denser  or  of  deeper  tints  to-morrow, 
and  whether  in  upland  or  in  meadow  you  will  find  no 
new  birds.  Those  that  came  to  stay  are  now  busy  with 
their  nests ;  those  that  tarried  for  a  while,  en  route  for 
more  northern  homes,  have  long  since  left  us.  June  is  a 
month  of  fixed  facts,  but  they  are  none  the  less  interest- 
ing because  of  this.  What  transpired  a  year  ago,  this 
day  or  week  or  month,  or  even  half  a  century  ago,  is  now 
being  or  will  be  re-enacted.  But  all  was  not  reported 
then,  and  much  has  been  slighted  since,  so  that  the  dan- 


JUNE. 

ger  is  slight  indeed  that  the  record  of  any  June  day  out 
of  doors  will  be  a  twice-told  tale. 

One  great  advantage  of  observations  made  at  this  time 
is  this :  Hitherto,  we  have  had,  for  instance,  to  content 
ourselves,  as  a  rule,  with  casual  glimpses  of  every  bird  we 
saw,  and  could  seldom  be  sure  that  we  saw  the  same  indi- 
vidual twice ;  but  now,  not  only  the  same  bird,  but,  better 
yet,  a  mated  pair  can  be  confidently  followed  from  day  to 
day,  for  they  have  a  comparatively  restricted  range,  and 
every  movement  is  more  or  less  with  reference  to  their 
nest  and  young.  The  advantage  is  obvious.  At  no  other 
time  are  the  characteristic  features  of  bird  life  so  pro- 
nounced, and  the  one  opportunity  of  each  season  is  oif ered 
to  determine  how  far  individuals  vary  as  to  their  intelli- 
gence, their  tastes,  and  mode  of  living. 

I  have  been  much  interested  in  watching  a  brood  of 
Virginia  rails  that  were  hatched  somewhere  in  the  im- 
penetrable mucky  meadow,  of  which  I  have  so  often 
spoken.  No  tropical  jungle  could  be  more  hopelessly 
tangled  than  this  bit  of  marsh,  and,  I  may  add,  few  prob- 
ably shelter  a  greater  variety  of  life-forms.  Here  I  have 
found — and  can  always  find — mammals,  birds,  reptiles, 
batrachians,  and  fishes,  besides  insects  and  other  inverte- 
brate life  in  the  greatest  profusion ;  and  here  it  is  that 
with  the  regularity  of  the  seasons  three  notable  forms  of 
aquatic  birds  repair  to  breed — the  king  rail,  the  Virginia 
rail,  and  the  least  bittern.  Of  these,  during  the  summer 
of  1888,  the  smaller  rails  were  the  prominent  feature. 

I  occasionally  heard  them  during  the  month  of  May, 
but  never  caught  a  glimpse  of  one  until  late  in  June,  when 
a  commotion  of  some  sort  brought  at  least  two  broods 
and  their  parents  to  the  edge  of  the  marsh.  Occasionally 
they  ran  out  for  a  short  distance  upon  the  open  meadow. 
The  young  at  this  time  were  not  fully  grown  nor  able  to 
fly,  I  thought,  but  their  activity  as  runners  was  really  re- 


142  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

markable.  They  "  peeped  "  incessantly,  their  voice  being 
clear  and  fife-like,  while  the  parent  birds  uttered,  with  few 
intermissions,  a  pig-like  note  that  has  been  well  described 
as  sounding  like  keek-keek-kek.  I  discovered  these  birds — 
but  not  the  cause  of  their  distress — early  in  the  afternoon, 
and  remained  for  several  hours  at  the  edge  of  the  marsh, 
watching  their  strange  antics.  As  the  reeds,  rushes,  cala- 
mus, and  dock  were  all  too  dense  to  enable  me  to  see  the 
birds  constantly,  I  naturally  fell  to  conjecturing  what 
might  have  caused  the  commotion.  Of  course  the  prob- 
abilities were  that  some  animal  had  attacked  the  young 
birds.  But  the  speed  with  which  the  young  could  run 
rendered  it  improbable  that  they  were  really  in  any  dan- 
ger, unless  surprised.  In  a  fair  race  they  could  outrun  a 
black-snake.  While  I  waited  and  wondered,  several  times 
the  birds  moved  apparently  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
meadow,  judging  by  their  voices,  and  then  in  a  body  came 
back  to  very  near  the  spot  where  I  was  lying  in  wait. 
This  strange  movement  materially  increased  my  curiosity, 
but  I  was  helpless  in  the  matter.  By  no  known  means 
could  I  see  more  than  the  birds  chose  to  permit,  and  that 
was  provokingly  little.  But  at  last — as  is  usually  the  case 
— I  was  somewhat  rewarded  for  my  patience,  for  suddenly 
the  rushes  began  to  tremble  violently,  and  with  a  quick 
bound  a  large  mink  made  his  appearance.  He  hesitated  a 
moment  as  if  to  recover  from  fatigue,  and  then,  with  that 
easy  gait  characteristic  of  all  the  weasel  tribe,  bounded 
across  the  meadow.  It  is  fair  to  suppose  that  this  murder- 
ous creature  had  caused  the  disturbance,  from  the  fact 
that  directly  after  its  departure  silence  reigned. 

We  are  apt  to  consider  as  instinctive  every  action  of  a 
very  young  animal — such  as  the  spitting  of  blind  kittens  and 
the  barking  of  newly  bora  puppies — but  the  acts  of  young 
rail  birds,  that  are  both  strong  upon  the  feet  and  have  ex- 
cellent vision  as  soon  as  hatched,  are  suggestive  of  a  higher 


JUNE.  143 

degree  of  mentality.  Those  who  have  watched  young 
rail  birds  when  confined  will  vouch  for  their  cunning, 
and  those  who  have  seen  them  in  their  own  homes  are 
equally  ready  to  aver  how  knowing  they  are.  Although 
watched  over  by  their  parents,  and  constantly  warned  by 
various  duckings  of  different  tone,  and  so,  presumably,  of 
different  meaning,  the  young  take  in  the  character  of 
their  little  world  very  promptly,  and  act  under  the  guid- 
ance of  their  own  considerable  intelligence.  "When  de- 
prived of  their  parents  this  is,  of  course,  the  more  evident. 
Then,  they  band  together  for  mutual  aid,  and  roost  in  the 
thickest  tangles,  at  a  distance  from  open  water  and  where 
an  enemy  would  only  by  mere  chance  be  likely  to  come.  I 
have,  by  accident,  twice  come  upon  them  toward  the  close 
of  day,  when  the  young  birds — some  half-dozen  of  them — 
were  resting  in  tangled  cat-tail,  at  a  distance  of  a  foot  at 
least  above  the  water.  To  the  broad  leaves  of  the  plant 
they  clung  tenaciously,  and  were  at  first  quite  indisposed 
to  run  ;  but  on  endeavoring  to  take  off  one,  they  all  pre- 
cipitately fled.  Soon  after,  I  heard  a  faint,  quail-like 
"peeping,"  and  believe  that  by  this  signal  they  were 
again  coming  together.  I  know  that  when  I  disturbed 
them,  they  fled  in  different  directions.  These  broods  were 
both  very  young,  and  were  evidently  orphaned. 

When  parents  and  young  are  kept  together  in  a  room, 
they  remain  upon  friendly  terms  long  after  the  latter  have 
become  fully  fledged.  In  fact,  the  rails  in  a  friend's  aviary 
went  a  step  further,  and  one  young  male  married  his 
mother. 

Although  these  birds  grow  rapidly  and  soon  become 
feathered,  the  idea  of  using  their  wings  as  a  means  of 
escape  seems  never  to  occur  to  them  until  the  summer  is 
well-nigh  spent;  and  even  in  September  I  have  seen 
young  rail  birds  that  would  only  run  in  spite  of  very  close 
pursuit  by  a  spaniel.  Later,  when  nightly  white  frosts 


144  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

admonish  them  of  the  destruction  of  their  close  cover,  they 
find  the  necessity  for  migration  before  them,  and  sudden- 
ly, in  a  night,  they  depart.  Flight  must  seem  a  strange 
faculty  to  them  as  they  journey  for  many  miles;  and 
when  they  return  one  would  naturally  expect  to  find  them 
flying  rather  than  running  from  their  foes ;  but  this  is 
seldom  the  case.  Those  that  year  after  year  summer  in 
the  mucky  meadow  are  practically  wingless  as  apteryges. 
Would,  if  the  necessity  of  migration  no  longer  continued, 
the  rail  birds  lose  their  flight  power  ?  It  is  not  improb- 
able. So  admirably  adapted  are  they  for  living  in  their 
wet  and  weedy  haunts,  and  so  averse  are  they  now  to  leav- 
ing them,  that,  through  disuse,  it  is  quite  natural  that 
one  or  more  powers  should  be  lost.  I  do  not  think  that 
in  the  short  journeys  peculiarities  of  the  season  may 
render  necessary  these  birds  always  fly.  When  a  sudden 
rise  in  the  river  has  occurred  in  summer,  the  rail  birds 
have  been  found  running  about  the  meadows  adjoining 
the  marshes  from  which  they  have  been  driven ;  and  a 
high  freshet  has  sometimes  forced  them  to  the  upland 
fields.  They  seem  never  to  wander  farther  than  is  neces- 
sary from  their  chosen  haunts,  and  return  to  them  as  soon 
as  the  receding  waters  will  permit.  Such  facts  I  have  in- 
terpreted as  indicating  a  great  indisposition  to  wander,  and 
particularly  to  fly  to  distant  and  more  pleasant  quarters. 

A  June  landscape  is  incomplete  without  water.  Best 
of  all,  the  river ;  but  if  not  this,  then  a  creek,  a  brook,  or 
even  the  quiet  mill-pond.  However  pleasant  the  day  may 
be,  the  breeze  cool,  the  blossoms  bright,  the  shade  dense, 
the  sunshine  tempered,  there  still  is  something  wanting. 
The  world  has  an  unfinished  look  when  there  is  no  water 
in  view,  and  wild  life  is  largely  of  the  same  opinion.  I 
have  often  found  many  an  upland  field  almost  deserted 
when  the  meadows  and  the  river  bank  were  crowded. 


145 

Even  the  solitary  bluebird  that  far  overhead  was 
hurrying  toward  the  river  valley,  warbled  in  most  melan- 
choly tones  as  it  crossed  my  neighbor's  clover,  and  I,  too, 
saw  nothing  to  stay  my  steps,  and  yet  it  was  a  perfect 
June  morning.  Wayside  weeds,  clover  blossoms,  and  a 
long  vine-clad  worm  fence  were  as  nothing ;  yet  had  they 
been  by  sparkling  waters,  how  readily  I  should  have 
lingered  there !  As  it  was,  I  felt  drawn  toward  open 
water,  and  passed  every  object  in  the  fields  without  a 
glance  at  any.  My  eyes  thirsted  for  a  watery  landscape, 
and  I  hurried,  without  a  fear  of  disappointment  and  in 
high  hopes  of  novelty,  toward  the  near-by  mill-pond. 

The  high  banks,  themselves  shut  in  by  the  crowded 
growth  of  vigorous  young  trees,  hid  the  pond  until  I  was 
at  its  very  edge,  and  then,  to  my  chagrin,  I  found  no 
sparkling  waters  between  the  shores,  no  floating  isles  of 
lilies,  no  forest  of  splatter-docks,  but  instead  a  wide  reach 
of  sun-cracked  mud  and  the  trivial  forest  brook  of  Indian 
times.  I  had  come  too  far  not  to  make  the  most  of  a  bad 
matter,  and  for  water  I  must  content  myself  with  mud. 
The  outlook  was  at  first  unpromising. 

If  I  mistake  not,  it  had  been  many  years  since  the 
mill-pond  was  so  nearly  empty  as  now.  As  I  looked  up 
and  down  the  little  stream,  the  whole  region  appeared  de- 
serted. Desolation  brooded  over  the  valley  and  cast  a 
shadow  even  upon  the  adjoining  woods.  But  was  this  not 
a  condition  born  of  my  own  feeling  of  disappointment, 
and  so  a  false  interpretation  ?  Would  I  have  seen  more, 
or  heard  more,  had  I  found  the  expected  sheet  of  water 
instead  of  a  mud-flat?  There  is  no  reason  to  think  it. 
As  the  animal  life  that  long  ago  adapted  itself  to  other 
conditions  had  proved  equal  to  the  emergency  of  a  sudden 
change,  so  must  I.  Whatever  had  been  my  plans  mattered 
nothing ;  what  could  now  be  done  ? 

Besides  the  narrow  cracks  in  the  mud  there  were  other 
10 


146  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

depressions,  both  wider  and  deeper  than  these,  and  all 
leading  directly  from  the  shore  line  of  the  pond  toward 
the  brook.  One  that  I  followed  from  end  to  end  was 
deeply  impressed  with  the  tracks  of  a  musk-rat  that  two 
nights  before  had  walked  instead  of  swam  to  the  middle 
of  the  pond.  I  thought  of  mussels  and  looked  for  their 
shells,  for  I  always  associate  the  mollusk  with  this  animal, 
but  found  no  trace  of  them.  This  led  me  to  wondering 
what  the  musk-rats  here  did  eat,  and  I  found  the  bones  of 
frogs  and  a  bird  at  the  opening  of  another  burrow  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  pond.  The  bird  was  a  small  heron,  and 
I  will  not  presume  that  the  musk-rat  caught  it ;  that  it 
found  the  bird  is  far  more  likely.  One  feature  of  the 
mammal's  habits  was  evident — a  meat  diet  is  preferred,  if 
not  essential.  In  the  tidal  creeks  a  mixed  one  is  the  rule, 
for  many  tender  roots  of  water-plants  are  devoured. 

A  word  here  about  the  mussels  that  in  most  places 
constitute  a  large  proportion  of  the  musk-rat's  food.  The 
shells  that  accumulate  about  the  burrows  and  feeding- 
grounds  of  the  rat  are  not  without  scarification  always, 
as  has  been  so  persistently  claimed.  Directly  below  the 
cliff,  in  Adams  County,  Ohio,  whereon  rests  the  Serpent 
Mound,  Brush  Creek  meanders  over  a  rough  and  troubled 
course,  and  is  almost  stayed  at  certain  points  by  the  huge 
rock  masses  that  have  fallen  into  the  channel.  Here 
musk-rats  abound,  and  mussels  are  abundant.  Upon 
several  projecting  rocks  I  found  scattered  shells  that 
clearly  exhibited  tooth-marks,  and  several  that  were 
broken  about  the  edges,  as  teeth  and  toe-nails  tugging  at 
them  would  be  likely  to  break  them.  As  a  whole,  my 
gatherings  would  never  lead  one  to  suppose  that  valves 
were  ever  parted  without  injury.  Such,  however,  is  the 
case,  and  I  have  heard  but  a  single  explanation,  although 
I  have  asked  many  observers — meaning  by  the  latter- 
trappers  and  others  who  had  had  abundant  opportunities 


JUNE.  147 

to  observe  musk-rats  under  favorable  circumstances.  They 
all  expressed  the  opinion  that  the  mussels  were  carried 
out  of  the  water  and  placed  in  heaps  to  sicken,  if  not  to 
die.  I  can  not  prove  this,  nor  could  my  informants,  but 
the  details  of  their  observations  as  narrated  certainly 
warranted  them  in  coming  to  the  conclusion  to  which 
they  reached ;  and  an  accomplished  naturalist  of  Indiana, 
who  has  very  carefully  studied  the  habits  of  the  musk-rat 
for  years,  assures  me  that  he  believes  the  "  open-air " 
theory  to  be  correct,  as  he  had  seen  in  these  heaps  of 
mussels  many  that  had  been  overlooked,  and  dying ;  the 
valves  had  parted,  but  the  soft  parts,  the  animal  proper, 
had  not  been  extracted. 

Mr.  A.  M.  Brayton,  in  his  report  on  the  "  Mammals  of 
Ohio,"  states :  "  The  summer  food  (of  the  musk-rat)  con- 
sists of  leaves  of  various  aquatic  plants  and  different  spe- 
cies of  river-mussels.  Every  one  at  all  familiar  with  the 
shallows  of  our  streams  will  recall  the  immense  heaps  of 
mussel-shells — often  a  bushel  or  more — by  the  side  of  some 
large  stone  or  log,  midway,  perhaps,  of  the  river,  and  fur- 
nishing easy  collecting  grounds  for  the  conchologist. 
These  are  the  '  oyster  restaurants  '  of  the  musk-rat.  Col- 
lecting the  mussels  from  the  river  bottom,  the  musk-rat 
mounts  the  log  or  stone,  sits  up  on  its  haunches  like  a 
squirrel,  and  opens  the  shell  with  its  strong  incisor  teeth, 
as  neatly  as  a  squirrel  opens  a  nut.  Most  of  the  shells 
are  left  with  the  ligament  intact.  Mr.  Kennicott  has 
found  massive  shells,  like  those  of  Unio  plicatus,  left  un- 
opened, or  with  the  valves  gnawed  apart  at  the  back." 

To  return  to  the  mill-pond.  The  changed  conditions 
had  been  comprehended  as  with  a  glance,  and  I  doubt  if 
a  creature  dwelling  upon  the  banks  of  the  one-time  mill- 
pond  was  not  wholly  at  home.  Curiosity  led  me  to  an 
enormous  stump  that  was  now  some  three  feet  above  the 
mud.  The  tree,  an  oak,  had  evidently  been  felled  just 


148  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

before  the  construction  of  the  pond — which  was  eighty- 
five  years  ago — and  was  not  at  all  decayed.  Here  the 
musk-rats  had  already  found  a  convenient  resting-place, 
and  even  thus  early  had  left  traces  of  their  feasts.  The 
broken  shells  of  crayfish  were  very  abundant. 

These  ever-abundant  crustaceans  had  resented  the 
sudden  outgoing  of  the  waters,  and  seeking  refuge  in 
every  nook  had  withstood  the  current,  and  were  now 
crowded  into  the  shallow  brook  and  the  little  shallows 
that  dimpled  the  wide  expanse  of  mud.  Their  efforts  to 
escape  were  wildly  frantic  as  I  drew  near,  but  I  could 
not  induce  them  ever  to  leave  the  water.  This  surprised 
me,  as  the  pools  were  but  an  inch  or  two  in  depth,  so  I 
tried  to  force  them  out  upon  the  mud  by  placing  my  cane 
before  me  and  slowly  advancing.  Back  they  darted,  and 
then  again  and  again  receded,  until  they  were  half  out 
upon  the  mud  ;  but  no  further  would  they  retreat.  Many 
burrowed  until  nearly  out  of  sight,  and  all  might  have  done 
so  had  the  mud  been  less  compact,  and  a  few  gave  a  for- 
ward leap  over  my  cane  and  sought  refuge  in  the  water 
behind  me.  I  say  a  "  forward  leap,"  for  so  it  seemed,  but 
the  movement  was  too  rapid  for  me  to  be  positive.  This 
matters  little,  for  I  had  gained  my  point ;  even  the  cray- 
fish has  a  modicum  of  cunning,  or,  more  properly,  com- 
mon sense. 

As  the  child  casts  away  one  toy  for  another,  so  I 
turned  from  the  crayfish  at  last,  and  they,  like  the  musk- 
rats,  were  quickly  forgotten.  From  point  to  point  I 
wandered,  and  at  last,  finding  no  novelty,  wondered  at  the 
absence  of  birds.  Here,  certainly,  was  a  generous  feed- 
ing-ground, and  yet  I  neither  saw  nor  heard  any,  save 
the  chirping  sparrows  of  the  thickets.  I  forgot  that  in 
so  exposed  a  position  I  was  acting  the  part  of  a  scare- 
crow and  kept  away  the  very  creatures  that  I  wished  to 
see.  Remembering  this,  I  withdrew  to  a  shady  nook, 


JUNE.  149 

commanding  a  good  view  both  up  and  down  the  pond, 
and  there  awaited  developments ;  nor  had  I  long  to  wait. 
The  crows  were  soon  upon  the  ground,  and  how  I  longed 
for  a  field-glass !  They  evidently  were  in  search  of  food, 
and  doubtless  attacked  the  little  crayfish ;  but  the  larger 
ones  appeared  to  give  them  trouble.  At  least,  I  can  ima- 
gine no  other  animal  in  the  pools  that  would  defy  them. 
Amid  the  most  vociferous  cawing  they  pranced  about  the 
edges  of  the  pools,  and  thrusting  their  heads  into  the 
water  they  withdrew  with  a  ludicrously  quick  jump  that 
appeared  to  excite  or  amuse  the  bystanders.  It  was  a 
curious  sight  but  did  not  last.  Either  the  crows  were 
quickly  surfeited  or  discomfited,  and  left  the  spot  in  a 
body.  As  soon  as  they  rose  into  the  air  I  went  to  the 
spot,  but  failed  to  detect  any  diminution  in  the  number 
of  crayfish. 

Wandering  to  where  the  pond  was  wider  and  deeper — 
or  had  been,  when  there  was  a  pond — I  found  the  mud 
in  places  covered  with  curious  tracks,  running  in  every 
direction  and  ending  apparently  nowhere.  These  puz- 
zled me  at  first,  but  when  I  recognized  them  as  the  foot- 
prints of  turtles,  all  seemed  clear  enough.  The  bewildered 
creatures  had  evidently  wandered  in  a  very  aimless  way, 
looking  for  the  water  that  had  left  their  haunts  without 
warning.  Where  were  the  turtles  now?  To  solve  this 
problem  I  assumed  to  be  a  very  easy  task,  and  walked  with 
confidence  to  various  pools  and  probed  the  mud  industri- 
ously, but  not  a  turtle  was  to  be  found.  It  seemed  im- 
probable that  they  should  have  been  swept  down  the  creek, 
and  yet  they  were  not  in  the  likely  spots  upon  the  mud- 
flat  where  they  had  so  recently  been  crawling.  On  re-ex- 
amination of  the  tracks,  I  found  that  some  led  toward  the 
shore,  and  following  these,  I  was  delighted  to  find  one 
little  basin  of  a  bubbling  spring  filled  with  quite  young 
snappers.  There  were  seven ;  none  more  than  three  inches 


150  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

long,  and  each  as  ill-tempered  as  the  most  patriarchal  of 
their  race  has  ever  been  found  to  be. 

This  discovery  opened  up  a  greater  mystery  :  what  of 
the  many  other  species  known  to  inhabit  the  pond  ?  That 
they  were  hiding  in  the  woods  waiting  the  return  of  the 
waters  was  scarcely  probable,  but  I  commenced  to  search 
for  them  forthwith.  By  accident,  I  found  a  spotted  turtle 
beneath  a  cluster  of  dwarf  laurel,  and  then  probed  wher- 
ever the  ground  was  damp.  At  last  I  got  a  clew  to  their 
whereabout.  My  probing  attracted  the  attention  of  a 
farmer  living  near,  and  he  assured  me  that  I  would  not 
find  the  turtles  where  I  supposed,  for  they  had  "  wobbled 
over  the  hill  to  the  ditches  in  his  meadow."  This  I  found 
to  be  true.  Fully  five  hundred  yards  away,  in  a  low-lying 
meadow,  separated  from  the  mill-pond  by  a  high  ridge  or 
hill,  I  found  scores  of  turtles  of  five  species,  but  not  a 
snapper  among  them.  I  can  not  believe  that  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances  turtles  are  ever  as  abundant  as  I  found 
them  in  this  meadow,  and  accept  the  farmer's  statement 
that  they  had  "  wobbled  over  the  hill "  from  the  mill-pond. 
And  now  we  are  confronted  with  two  puzzling  problems : 
Why  did  not  the  snappers  go?  How  did  those  which 
crossed  over  to  the  meadow  know  of  its  existence  ? 

They  certainly  did  not  look  very  happy.  Some  of 
them  gazed  wistfully  at  me,  as  though  expecting  the  an- 
nouncement that  the  mill-pond  was  again  full  to  the  brim 
and  ready  to  receive  them.  I  picked  up  four — one  at  a 
time— and  placed  them  in  the  woods  midway  between  the 
meadow  and  the  pond,  and  found  when  I  set  the  last 
upon  the  ground  the  others  had  not  moved.  Then  I  re- 
arranged them,  tail  to  tail,  with  their  heads  pointing 
toward  the  four  cardinal  points  of  the  compass,  and  left 
them  to  their  meditations.  Fully  ten  minutes  elapsed  be- 
fore -any  one  saw  fit  to  move,  and  then  they  all  seemed 
influenced  alike  and  set  out  upon  their  journeys.  The 


JUNK  151 

one  that  faced  the  pond  turned  neither  to  the  right  nor 
left,  and  I  followed  as  best  I  could,  but  soon  lost  it  in  the 
underbrush  and  weeds.  Retracing  my  steps,  I  searched 
for  the  others,  but  without  success. 

Did  these  turtles  start  out  with  the  idea  of  searching 
for  water  ?  Had  they  formulated  any  plan  ?  Recalling 
those  that  I  had  seen  in  the  ditch  as  I  walked  away,  I  felt 
the  hopelessness  of  the  attempt  to  unravel  the  tangle  of 
what  chelonian  or  any  other  "  lower  "  form  of  life  really 
is,  and  particularly  how  far  it  is  akin  to  our  own.  When 
a  dwelling-house  is  burned,  the  inmates  take  refuge  in  the 
nearest  shelter.  The  current  of  a  person's  thoughts  at 
such  a  time  is  readily  traced.  Even  if  such  an  unwelcome 
experience  has  not  been  our  own,  we  are  sure  as  to  what 
we  would  do  and  think  under  such  circumstances,  and 
naturally  ascribe  the  same  to  our  neighbors.  Are  we 
warranted  in  following  a  like  plan  in  judging  of  turtles  ? 
The  breaking  of  an  embankment  drains  a  mill-pond,  and 
a  score  of  unhoused  turtles  seek  shelter  in  the  nearest  ad- 
joining pools  of  water.  Was  the  mental  process  similar 
to,  or  identical  with  that  of  the  supposed  case  of  mankind 
when  a  dwelling  was  burned  ?  If  so,  to  some  extent  our 
task  is  simplified ;  but  "  if  so  "  ever  stands  guard  over  all 
such  suppositions,  and  I  sometimes  fear  it  ever  will. 

Since  the  above  was  written,  I  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  reading  Lubbock's  recent  work  on  "  Animal  Intelli- 
gence," and  the  following  throws  a  new  light  upon  the 
subject : 

"  The  general  aspect  of  nature  must  present  to  animals 
a  very  different  appearance  from  what  it  does  to  us. 

"  These  considerations  can  not  but  raise  the  reflection 
how  different  the  world  may — I  was  going  to  say  must — 
appear  to  other  animals  from  what  it  does  to  us.  Sound 
is  the  sensation  produced  on  us  when  the  vibrations  of 
the  air  strike  on  the  drum  of  our  ear.  When  they  are 


152  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

few,  the  sound  is  deep ;  as  they  increase  in  number,  it  be- 
comes shriller  and  shriller;  but  when  they  reach  forty 
thousand  in  a  second  they  cease  to  be  audible.  Light  is 
the  effect  produced  on  us  when  waves  of  light  strike  on 
the  eye.  When  four  hundred  millions  of  millions  of  vi- 
brations of  ether  strike  the  retina  in  a  second,  they  pro- 
duce red,  and  as  the  number  increases  the  color  passes 
into  orange,  then  yellow,  green,  blue,  and  violet.  But  be- 
tween forty  thousand  vibrations  in  a  second  and  four  hun- 
dred millions  of  millions  we  have  no  organ  of  sense  capa- 
ble of  receiving  the  impression.  Yet  between  these  lim- 
its any  number  of  sensations  may  exist.  We  have  five 
senses,  and  sometimes  fancy  that  no  others  are  possible. 
But  it  is  obvious  that  we  can  not  measure  the  infinite  by 
our  own  narrow  limitations. 

"  Moreover,  looking  at  the  question  from  the  other  side, 
we  find  in  animals  complex  organs  of  sense,  richly  sup- 
plied with  nerves,  but  the  function  of  which  we  are  as 
yet  powerless  to  explain.  There  may  be  fifty  other  senses 
as  different  from  ours  as  sound  is  from  sight ;  and  even 
within  the  boundaries  of  our  own  senses,  there  may  be 
endless  sounds  which  we  can  not  hear,  and  colors,  as  dif- 
ferent as  red  from  green,  of  which  we  have  no  conception. 
These  and  a  thousand  other  questions  remain  for  solution. 
The  familiar  world  which  surrounds  us  may  be  a  totally 
different  place  to  other  animals.  To  them  it  may  be  full 
of  music  which  we  can  not  hear,  of  color  which  we  can 
not  see,  of  sensations  which  we  can  not  conceive.  To 
place  stuffed  birds  and  beasts  in  glass  cages,  to  arrange 
insects  in  cabinets,  and  dried  plants  in  drawers,  is  merely 
the  drudgery  and  preliminary  of  study;  to  watch  their 
habits,  to  understand  their  relations  to  one  another,  to 
study  their  instincts  and  intelligence,  to  ascertain  their 
adaptations  and  their  relations  to  the  forces  of  nature,  to 
realize  what  the  world  appears  to  them — these  constitute, 


JUNE.  153 

as  it  seems  to  me  at  least,  the  true  interest  of  natural  his- 
tory, and  may  even  give  us  the  clew  to  senses  and  percep- 
tions of  which  at  present  we  have  no  conception." 

But  show  that  a  turtle's  sense  of  smell  is  sufficiently 
acute  to  smell  water  that  is  a  hundred  rods  distant  or 
hear  the  trickling  stream  that  is  as  far  away,  and  it  be- 
comes mere  machine,  as  it  were,  led  by  these  exquisitely 
developed  senses,  and  need  possess  no  trace  of  intelligence. 
Still,  I  am  not  willing  to  set  all  turtles  down  as  fools. 
The  cornered  snapper  shows  he  is  not  in  more  ways  than 
one,  and  I  have  knowledge  of  a  box-tortoise  that  certainly 
recognized  its  keeper,  and  would  come  when  he  called  it. 

I  returned  to  the  mill-pond  as  the  day  was  closing, 
and  gave  the  remaining  hours  to  the  few  small  fishes  that 
found  the  little  brook  that  remained  sufficient  for  their 
needs.  Little  minnows  only,  and  I  could  not  expect  much 
entertainment  from  them,  but  they  seemed  quick-witted 
enough  when  I  tried  to  capture  a  few  for  identification. 
Every  individual  darted  into  some  inaccessible  nook  when 
my  shadow  fell  upon  the  water,  and  only  reappeared 
when  I  had  stood  back  for  several  minutes. 

The  last  time  I  did  so,  and  while  watching  their  some- 
what curious  antics  in  the  shallower  spots  where  the 
smooth  areas  of  dark-brown  mud  made  it  practicable  to  ob- 
serve them  distinctly,  I  was  interrupted  by  a  number  of 
cows  that  crossed  the  bed  of  the  pond  in  a  direct  line  with 
where  I  was  standing.  To  my  astonishment,  these  timid 
minnows  did  not  appear  to  notice  the  animals,  and  con- 
tinued their  sports.  This  induced  me  to  approach  some- 
what nearer,  and  I  walked  as  unconcernedly  and  cow-like 
as  possible,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  The  moment  I  came 
within  view  they  darted  off.  Of  course  it  can  not  be 
proved,  but  the  circumstantial  evidence  is  very  strong 
that  these  minnows,  which,  I  may  say,  probably  never  saw 
a  human  being  before,  recognized  a  difference,  and  saw  in 


154  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

the  cows  animals  harmless  to  them,  and  also  saw,  or 
thought  they  did,  an  enemy  in  me, 

I  had  had  a  very  different  experience  recently,  with  an 
old  sunfish  and  her  brood,  and  so  wondered  the  more  at 
the  exceeding  wildness  of  the  little  minnows  in  the  pond. 
While  gathering  snail-like  shells  from  the  leaf -stalks  of 
the  lotus,  this  troubled  mother  fish  was  much  exercised 
because  her  brood  had  no  fear,  and  were  in  danger  of 
being  trampled  upon,  as  I  waded  in  the  shallow  water. 
Then,  prompted  by  an  innate  love  of  teasing,  I  put  my 
hand  into  the  water,  and  the  young,  instead  of  darting 
away,  clustered  about  it  and  nibbled  at  my  fingers.  The 
poor  old  mother  became  frantic.  Fear  limited  her  daring, 
and  she  remained  just  out  of  reach.  I  waited  for  some 
time  in  an  uncomfortable,  stooping  position,  hoping  to  see 
evidence  of  a  power  on  the  parent  fish's  part  to  signal  to 
her  young,  but  discovered  nothing  that  could  be  looked 
upon  in  that  light ;  or,  if  the  young  fish  were  aware  of 
any  such  signaling,  they  were  quite  indifferent  to  it. 
After  a  few  minutes  had  elapsed,  I  commenced  moving 
my  hand  to  and  fro,  and  opening  and  closing  my  fingers 
at  the  same  time.  These  motions  were  too  like  those  of 
an  animal  in  the  act  of  eating  the  brood,  and  the  limit  of 
the  parent's  endurance  was  reached.  Without  warning, 
she  rushed  at  my  hand  with  such  force  that  I  was  fairly 
startled,  and,  withdrawing  it  suddenly,  nearly  lost  my  bal- 
ance. 

Shortly  after  this  incident  the  question  arose  in  my 
mind,  whether  this  brood  of  very  young  fish  could  distin- 
guish their  mother  from  other  adult  sunfish.  Of  course, 
the  converse  of  this  is  always  true.  To  test  the  matter,  I 
scooped  in  a  near-by  ditch  until  I  caught  a  fish  of  about 
the  size  of  the  parent  of  the  brood,  and  then  separating 
the  young  from  their  mother  and  keeping  them  well  apart, 
set  my  captive  free  among  the  former.  Instantly  there 


JUNE.  155 

was  dire  confusion.  The  released  fish  was  either  recog- 
nized as  a  stranger,  or  as  their  parent  gone  mad.  The 
poor  things  scattered,  and  showed  every  evidence  of  genu- 
ine fear.  I  repeated  this,  from  day  to  day,  for  a  week, 
and  with  practically  the  same  results ;  but,  after  all,  I  am 
not  sure  that  they  have  much  significance.  I  failed  alto- 
gether to  determine  the  main  point,  and  have  had  to  con- 
tent myself  with  the  feeling  that  my  inference  of  some  in- 
tellectual power  in  very  young  fishes  is  correct.  I  believe 
this  brood  of  sunfish  recognized  the  strangers  as  such, 
rather  than  supposed  them  to  be  their  parent  in  a  danger- 
ous frame  of  mind  ;  this  being  indicated,  too,  by  the  fact 
that  when  the  parent  fish  was  removed  and  returned  to 
the  pond,  the  young  immediately  clustered  about  her  and 
no  evidence  of  fear  was  apparent. 

To  observe  to  the  best  advantage  the  majority  of  the 
fishes  in  our  little  creeks,  it  is  necessary  to  study  them 
when  associated,  as  well  as  during  the  spawning  season, 
and  this  is  practicable  in  midwinter.  In  fact,  the  absence 
of  vegetation,  both  along  the  banks  of  the  streams  and  in 
their  beds,  renders  such  study  a  far  easier  task  than  in 
summer;  and  one  has  the  advantage,  too,  of  of  ten.  finding 
several  species  collected  in  the  spring-holes  where  the 
water  is  appreciably  warmer  than  elsewhere  in  the  bed  of 
the  stream.  To  watch  such  congregated  fishes  from  day 
to  day,  yourself  remaining  concealed  the  while,  is  to  be- 
come satisfied  that,  however  small  the  fish,  it  is  never  a 
fool,  but  really  has  a  modicum  of  common  sense.  And 
let  me  add,  I  have  never  been  convinced  that  a  friendly 
critic  was  right  when  he  insisted  that  batrachians  were 
more  intelligent  than  fishes,  as  a  rule.  I  admit  that  my 
more  recent  field-work  has  often  been  contradictory  in  its 
results,  the  observations  of  one  day  negativing  those  of 
the  next,  but  I  find,  on  careful  collation  of  memoranda 
covering  all  the  year,  that  the  impression  has  been  further 


156  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

strengthened  that  fishes  as  a  class  are  more  intelligent 
than  batrachians,  and  here  it  may  be  well  to  add  that  the 
strictly  carnivorous  fishes  are  without  exception  more  cun- 
ning than  herbivorous  or  even  omnivorous  species. 

I  tarried  for  half  an  hour  after  sunset  at  one  very 
prominent  feature  of  the  empty  pond,  an  enormous  white- 
oak  stump.  Since  the  pond  was  built  it  has  been  deeply 
submerged,  but  as  yet  has  lost  nothing  of  its  bulk,  save 
the  bark.  The  tree  when  felled,  in  1803,  was  one  of  the 
land-marks  of  the  neighborhood,  and  the  largest  oak,  save 
one,  for  many  miles  around,  and  probably  one  of  the 
largest  in  existence. 

My  grandfather,  who  was  familiar  with  the  tree  for 
more  than  twenty  years,  told  me  that  it  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  original  highway  that  passed  here,  and  the 
wagon  tracks  on  each  side  of  the  tree  were  thirty  feet 
apart,  the  ground  being  so  wrinkled  with  projecting 
roots  that  this  wide  offing  was  necessary.  Of  these  great 
roots  nothing  now  remained,  or  if  not  decayed  they  were 
deeply  covered  with  silt.  Having  other  oaks  in  mind,  one 
in  the  t  Cross  wicks  meeting-house  yard  in  particular,  it 
was  not  difficult  to  reconstruct  the  ancient  tree  and  re- 
store the  surroundings  to  their  earlier  and  wilder  condi- 
tion. The  little  valley  must  have  been  a  charming  spot, 
and  I  wonder  not  that  to  the  few  remaining  Indians  it 
was  a  favorite  one.  Here,  during  the  closing  years  of  the 
last  century,  they  encamped  annually  in  autumn,  mak- 
ing and  peddling  baskets  and  bead-work  during  their 
stay.  The  oak  tree,  if  not  the  surroundings,  appeared  to 
be  sacred  to  them,  so  my  grandfather  thought,  or  at  least 
to  be  associated  with  certain  memorable  events  in  their 
history. 

And  at  last,  when  the  shadows  lengthened  until  the 
pond  was  almost  lost  to  view,  I  turned  toward  home, 


JUNE.  157 

filled  with  romantic  feelings  born  of  the  surroundings 
and  of  my  scanty  knowledge  of  their  past  history.  It  is 
a  confession  of  weakness,  perhaps,  but  tales  of  long  ago, 
the  fireside  stories  that  my  grandparents  knew  so  well, 
are  of  greater  interest  to  me  than  all  else ;  so,  while  I 
walked,  the  roadside  and  beyond  were  restored  to  those 
marvelous  conditions  of  colonial  times  that  forever  haunt 
my  fancy. 

The  delightful  uncertainty  of  threatening  days  is 
something  for  which  to  be  thankful.  It  is  no  drawback 
at  the  threshold  of  a  June  morning  to  have  some  gray- 
beard  scan  the  wrapped  sky  and  assure  you  with  an  air  of 
wisdom  that  "  it  looks  kind  o'  threatenin'." 

What  if  it  does  ?  Must  we  crawl  back  to  bed,  or,  like 
the  ground-hog,  because  he  sees  his  shadow  in  February, 
anticipate  foul  weather  and  resume  our  seclusion  ?  It  is 
exhilarating  to  take  the  chances.  We  have  the  excitement 
of  gambling  without  its  moral  degradation.  If  after  all  it 
proves  a  clear  day,  as  it  is  very  likely  to  do — for  the  coun- 
try folk's  predictions,  like  dreams,  often  go  by  contraries — 
one  feels  like  the  fool  he  really  is,  if  he  stayed  at  home. 
If  the  rambler  ventures  abroad  notwithstanding  the  pre- 
diction and  the  day.  proves  stormy,  the  chances  are  many 
in  his  favor  that  he  will  have  the  world  to  himself,  which 
always  overbalances  the  discomfort  caused  by  rain.  And 
herein  lies  the  reason :  Looking  over  page  after  page  of 
June  field-notes,  covering  many  years,  I  find  that  a  gentle 
rain  has  no  depressing  effect  upon  animal  life,  and  it 
occasionally  produces  the  opposite  effect.  Let  me  par- 
ticularize. Not  long  since,  heavy  banks  of  cold,  gray 
clouds  rested  upon  the  distant  tree-tops,  a  chilling  mist 
obscured  the  meadows,  and  the  east  wind  petulantly  dash- 
ing against  the  tide,  alike  foretold  the  coming  storm. 
Notwithstanding  the  forbidding  outlook,  I  pushed  my 


158  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

boat  boldly  over  the  intervening  strip  of  mud  and  rowed 
across  the  river.  Scarcely  had  her  keel  grated  upon  the 
pebbly  beach,  than  I  heard  the  cheery  whistle  of  the  pip- 
ing plover.  There  were  dozens  of  these  pretty  birds,  or  so 
it  seemed.  In  and  out  among  the  coarse  pebbles  they  ran 
without  fear,  and  sang  their  sweet  songs  at  every  pause  in 
their  erratic  courses.  Often  they  chased  each  other  and 
took  short  nights  over  the  water,  always  keeping  in  line 
and  each  piping  his  very  shrillest  notes.  As  I  sat  quite  still 
several  came  very  near,  so  near  that  I  could  see  their  every 
movement  distinctly,  and  was  delighted  when  three  perched 
upon  a  large  and  prominent  bowlder,  sitting  as  close  to- 
gether as  ever  huddled  three  swallows  on  a  telegraph  wire. 
The  long  threatening  rain  now  commenced  to  fall  in  ear- 
nest and  evidently  interfered  with  the  plovers  so  far  as  their 
feeding  was  concerned.  In  a  few  moments  they  had 
gathered  in  little  knots  along  the  pebbly  strand,  usually 
in  spots  that  were  somewhat  sheltered  from  the  gusty 
wind.  But  they  were  not  silent.  Their  clear,  piping  notes 
were  heard  above  the  moan  in  the  bending  pines,  above 
the  dash  of  the  petty  surf  upon  the  rocks.  Group  answered 
group  in  such  quick  succession  there  were  no  marked  in- 
tervals of  silence ;  the  patter  of  the  rain  was  lost  in  the 
bell-like  music  of  the  merry  birds. 

How  long  the  plovers  would  have  remained  I  can  not 
tell,  but  it  was  not  practicable  for  me  to  spend  the  whole 
day  sitting  in  the  boat ;  I  must  be  moving,  having  other 
ends  in  view.  As  I  stepped  upon  shore  each  little  com- 
pany took  wing  one  after  another,  and  uniting  far  out 
over  the  river  they  bore  away  down  stream.  In  the  driv- 
ing rain  and  mist  I  soon  lost  them,  and  the  wind  brought 
no  tidings  of  their  journey. 

Here,  then,  at  the  very  outset  of  a  rainy  day,  I  had 
been  well  repaid ;  but  how  much  I  should  have  lost  had  I 
merely  retraced  my  course !  Walking  up  the  river  shore 


JUNE.  159 

to  where  the  birds  had  been,  I  found  a  huge  water-snake 
that  had  recently  been  killed.  Not  one  of  these  timid 
plovers  had  recognized  it,  apparently.  Many  had  even 
stepped  upon  it,  and  yet  it  lay  upon  the  pebbles  in  full 
view  and  in  a  very  life-like  position.  This  brings  up  the 
unsolved  problem  of  how  far  a  bird's  sense  of  sight  is  akin 
to  our  own  ;  how  far  all  their  senses.  Lubbock's  remarks 
that  the  world  may  be  a  totally  different  place  to  other 
animals  must  be  remembered. 

That  plovers,  like  all  of  our  small  birds,  are  afraid  of 
living  snakes  will  not  be  disputed.  I  doubt,  indeed,  if  any 
of  our  largest  birds  of  prey  would  have  dared  to  attack 
this  dead  snake  when  alive,  for  a  serpent  five  feet  in  length 
and  stout  in  proportion  is  enormously  strong.  By  what 
means  did  this  flock  of  piping  plovers  recognize  that  it 
was  harmless  ?  I  only  determined  the  fact  by  a  close  ex- 
amination. There  was,  of  course,  no  motion  ;  and  as  the 
snake  had  been  very  recently  killed,  no  odor  of  decomposi- 
tion. I  could  not  at  the  time,  nor  can  I  now  imagine  by 
what  method  the  plovers  had  ascertained  the  harmless 
condition  of  the  snake,  and  it  can  not  be  doubted  that 
they  did  not  fear  it,  unless  it  is  claimed  that  they  did  not 
distinguish  it  from  the  pebbles  upon  which  it  was  stretched. 
I  do  not  believe  this.  Whenever  I  have  placed  a  dead  snake 
in  the  poultry  yard,  the  chickens  gathered  about  it  imme- 
diately and  made  a  great  noise,  but  were  slow  in  attacking 
it.  They  always  acted  upon  the  supposition  that  it  was  still 
alive,  and  were  very  slow  to  be  convinced  to  the  contrary. 
Have  plovers  a  less  acute  vision?  It  was  suggested  at 
the  time  that  the  absence  of  motion  assured  them  that  the 
snake  was  dead  ;  but,  if  so,  then  they  would  never  be  safe 
against  serpents  that  might  lie  in  wait ;  and  I  have  noticed 
that  our  land  birds  generally  detect  such  cunning  snakes 
and  give  their  fellows  prompt  warning.  Again,  it  has 
been  said  that  living  snakes  give  out  an  odor  that  attracts 


160  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

the  bird's  attention  before  it  sees  the  animal.  This  cer- 
tainly tallies  with  some  results  of  my  experiments  with 
pictures  of  animals. 

When  I  related  some  years  ago  the  incident  of  a  bird 
being  terribly  frightened  at  a  chromo  of  a  cat,  the  ques- 
tion was  asked,  Might  not  the  fright  have  been  due  to 
some  other  cause  ?  It  certainly  was  not  then ;  but  I  have 
since  repeated  my  experiments  of  this  character,  and  with 
such  results  as  to  leave  the  whole  matter  still  an  open 
question,  for  the  evidence,  however  strongly  it  pointed  in 
one  direction,  was  after  all,  circumstantial.  An  antici- 
pated effect  was,  often  produced,  it  is  true,  but  how  far 
correctly  were  the  actions  of  the  animal  interpreted  ? 
This,  I  fear,  we  shall  never  be  able  to  ascertain. 

Some  time  after  I  had  made  the  first  series  of  experi- 
ments with  life-like  chromos  which  resulted  in  showing 
that  certain  birds  mistook  the  pictures  for  living  animals, 
I  happened  to  recall  what  I  had  read  of  the  peculiar  con- 
dition of  certain  low  races  of  mankind,  who  are  unable,  as 
a  rule,  "  to  realize  the  most  vivid  artistic  representations," 
and  it  seemed  very  strange  that  birds  should  have  a  real- 
izing power  in  any  direction  greater  than  that  of  certain 
species  of  men ;  the  more  so,  when  it  is  so  often  said  that 
human  and  animal  intelligence  differs  in  degree  rather  than 
in  kind.  But  this  appears  not  always  to  hold  good.  It  is 
on  record  that  "  on  being  shown  a  large  colored  engraving 
of  an  aboriginal  New  Hollander,  one  declared  it  to  be  a 
ship,  another  a  kangaroo,  and  so  on ;  not  one  of  a  dozen 
identifying  the  portrait  as  having  any  connection  with 
himself."  Few  birds  would  be  as  stupid  as  this  implies. 
If  a  picture  is  recognized  at  all,  it  is  correctly  recognized. 

The  chromo  of  a  cat  that  was  so  effective  was  not  a 
square  bit  of  card-board  upon  which  the  animal  was  de- 
picted, but  the  accurately  outlined  figure  only,  and  so 
without  any  confusing  fore  or  back  ground  to  dim  the 


JUNE.  161 

vividness  of  the  image.  Such  an  imitation  of  an  animal 
was  certainly  well  calculated  to  deceive. 

To  prove  that  outlined  pictures,  such  as  I  have  men- 
tioned, were  recognized  when  those  with  landscape  sur- 
roundings were  not,  I  exposed  a  large  portion  of  a  menag- 
erie poster  that  was  vividly  colored  and  not  inaccurately 
drawn  in  a  thicket  filled  with  birds.  It  was  passed  by 
unnoticed.  Cutting  away  all  portions  but  that  repre- 
senting an  Angora  cat,  and  placing  it  in  a  position  where 
its  outline  could  be  seen  distinctly  against  the  sky,  it  pro- 
duced much  consternation  at  first,  and  then  the  birds  be- 
gan to  marvel  why  it  did  not  move,  and  so  suspected  its 
true  nature,  or  that  it  was  dead;  but  none  were  brave 
enough  to  cross  the  danger-line  as,  in  their  discretion,  they 
had  drawn  it. 

Removing  it  from  its  elevated  position  and  placing  it 
on  the  ground,  it  was  not  noticed.  Chewinks  and  Mary- 
land yellow-throats  passed  it  by  without  stopping  a  mo- 
ment, and  a  frightened  chipmunk  went  directly  over  it, 
and  was  only  disturbed  by  the  rustling  of  the  paper.  I  re- 
stored it  as  best  I  could,  and  varnished  the  eyes  until  they 
glistened ;  then  I  replaced  it  in  the  bushes  not  far  from  a 
robin's  nest.  It  was  believed,  I  am  sure,  to  be  really  a 
cat,  and  the  birds  at  once  were  greatly  disturbed  at  its 
presence.  Of  course,  it  might  be  argued  that  any  unusual 
object  would  excite  a  nesting  bird's  suspicion,  but  plain 
paper  of  the  same  size  and  having  a  similar  outline  had 
no  effect  whatever.  On  the  contrary,  a  pair  of  vireos  tore 
off  bits  of  it  for  their  nest,  but  never  would  they  have 
dared  to  offer  a  like  indignity  to  the  chromo  of  a  crouch- 
ing cat. 

Of  groups  of  animals,  however  accurately  drawn  and 

colored,  neither  birds  nor  mammals  seem  to  have  any 

power  to  recognize.     The  enormous  posters  scattered  over 

the  country  by  Barnum  and  Forepaugh  frighten  neither 

11 


162  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

horses,  cattle,  nor  poultry ;  and  the  pestiferous  street  spar- 
row plucks  at  their  fluttering  edges  for  nesting  materials. 
Removed  bodily  or  piecemeal  to  the  woods  or  meadows, 
they  produce  no  effect ;  but  single  animals  scizzored  from 
them  usually  do.  But  not  if  they  are  very  large.  A  paper 
lion  never  excites  even  the  curiosity  of  a  cow,  so  I  infer 
that  the  sense  of  smell  has  much  to  do  with  the  matter. 
Horses  have  frequently  been  frightened  by  animals  which 
they  could  not  see  at  the  time,  and  had  probably  never 
seen,  their  sense  of  smell  alone  telling  them  of  the  prox- 
imity of  a  dangerous  foe. 

Representations  of  men,  although  quite  life-like  and  of 
life  size,  are  ignored  by  all  birds,  unless  it  be  the  crows, 
which  are  more  cautious  but  never  stand  off  for  any 
length  of  time.  The  enterprising  farmer  who  bought  a 
tobacconist's  wooden  Indian  to  use  as  a  scare-crow  was 
sadly  disappointed.  Every  morning  at  sunrise  he  saw  a 
crow  perched  upon  the  Indian's  crown,  keeping  watch 
that  his  fellows  in  the  field  might  not  suffer  a  surprise. 
Later  it  was  tied  near  the  top  of  a  cherry  tree  to  protect 
the  fruit,  but  not  a  bird  feared  it.  I  should  like  a  wooden 
figure  of  a  man,  dressed  as  we  dress,  and  fairly  represent- 
ing man,  as  the  wild  birds  are  accustomed  to  seeing  him, 
to  be  tested  as  this  fanciful  Indian  figure  was.  Possibly 
we  might  have  other  results ;  and  yet  the  most  life-like 
dummies  I  have  ever  seen  fail  very  soon  to  protect  our 
fields  from  the  crows. 

Even  fish  are  more  ready  to  recognize  portraits  than 
are  some  birds,  but  the  object  depicted  must  be  free  from 
all  association  with  other  objects  or  with  landscape.  I 
varnished  a  drawing  of  a  pike,  and  placed  it  in  a  com- 
manding position  in  a  brook.  The  minnows  immediately 
fled  from  the  spot,  and  for  some  time  did  not  come  near ; 
but  when  the  water  had  removed  the  varnish  in  part  and 
the  fierce  pike  became  a  limp  and  rumpled  bit  of  paste- 


JUNE.  163 

board,  the  courage  of  the  minnows  returned.  I  do  not  think 
that  this  case  was  a  mere  coincidence,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  when  I  have  introduced  pike  into  aquaria 
where  there  were  small  fishes,  the  latter  never  appeared 
to  show  any  fear. 

The  only  conclusion  I  am  willing  to  express  at  this 
time  in  the  matter  of  recognition  of  pictorial  representa- 
tions of  animals  by  animals  is,  that  among  our  birds  there 
is  a  wide  difference  as  to  their  intelligence,  the  more 
knowing  species  being  those  most  familiar  with  man ;  and 
in  proportion  as  birds  are  thus  familiar  (their  intelligence 
being  due  to  the  familiarity),  they  are  likely  to  recognize, 
first,  the  similarity  of  a  portrait  to  the  object  itself ;  and, 
second,  to  determine  soon  after  its  true  character.  This 
is  within  the  capability  of  a  wren  or  a  cat-bird,  but  beyond 
that  of  a  warbler  or  a  whip-poor-will. 

I  recently  spent  a  steamy-hot  June  night  in  a  neigh- 
bor's house,  and  where  I  least  expected  to  find  birds 
there  they  proved  to  be  most  abundant.  I  was  desperately 
tired,  and  it  was  not  without  some  misgivings  that  I 
climbed  a  dark  box  staircase,  made  scarcely  visible  by  the 
flickering  home-made  candle  carried  before  me.  As  I 
feared,  the  temperature  was  unbearable,  and  worse  than 
this,  mosquitoes  hummed  ominously  before  I  had  set  down 
the  light,  wasps  beat  upon  the  window  panes  and  gently 
rasped  the  ceiling,  and,  as  though  this  were  not  enough, 
the  chimney  roared  with  the  ceaseless  stream  of  swifts  that 
were  nesting  in  it.  It  needed  not  a  glance  at  the  huge 
feather  bed  to  know  that  my  only  object  in  entering  the 
room  was  an  impossibility.  I  had  no  choice  but  to  slip 
off  when  all  was  quiet  down-stairs,  or  to  suffer  torment 
until  morning.  While  debating  the  matter  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  might  forget  the  surroundings  by  studying  the 
swifts  in  the  chimney,  and,  more  than  partially  disrobing, 


164:  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

proceeded,  not  to  burn  midnight  oil,  but  utilize  tallow  and 
moonlight  in  ornithological  pursuits. 

The  house  was  an  early  colonial  one,  with  chimneys  of 
massive  proportions ;  but  at  some  time  in  the  past  a  stove- 
pipe hole  had  been  cut  that  the  room  I  occupied  could  be 
heated.  This  opening,  that  had  been  closed  by  paper, 
muslin,  and  paper,  in  alternate  layers,  thick  with  mouldy 
paste,  I  opened,  and  at  once  uplifted  flood-gates  I  was 
powerless  to  replace.  Three  screeching,  helpless,  half- 
naked  birds  tumbled  in  upon  the  floor,  and  a  parent  bird, 
deceived  by  the  dim  glare  of  the  candle,  which  it  might 
have  mistaken  for  a  distant  star,  rushed  after  them.  At 
once  it  commenced  darting  dangerously  near  the  candle, 
and  before  I  could  place  it  beyond  the  bird's  reach,  the 
fluttering  wings  extinguished  the  sickly  flame.  I  was  rapid- 
ly getting  into  a  miserable  snarl,  and,  with  greater  speed, 
becoming  angry.  Quite  unable  to  catch  the  one  obnox- 
ious visitor,  which  declined  to  rest  above  my  chamber 
door,  or  anywhere  else,  I  hastened  to  prevent  others 
from  joining  it  by  the  same  entrance.  But  adverse  fate 
was  grinning  over  my  left  shoulder  all  the  while,  and 
three  others  had  entered  while  my  back  was  turned. 
Had  it  suddenly  become  cold  as  Greenland  I  could  not 
now  have  slept.  The  moonlight  was  too  dim  to  at- 
tract the  birds  toward  the  window — a  mere  slit  in  the 
thick  stone  wall  that  six  small  panes  were  sufficient  to 
cover.  The  bit  of  gauze  that  covered  the  space  of  two 
panes  was  drawn  aside,  and  I  tried  to  drive  them  out. 
More  fool  I !  Then  I  tried  the  pillow  warfare,  not  in- 
dulged in  since  early  youth ;  it,  too,  was  a  failure.  Then 
— but  hark!  It  had  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  had 
been  making  any  noise,  and  now  a  motherly  voice  came 
ringing  up  the  box  staircase : "  Charles,  is  thee  sick ;  shall  I 
bring  thee  some  hot  tea  ?  " 

How  the  latter  query  of  the  kind  old  lady  still  rings 


JUNE.  165 

in  my  ears  !  Bring  me  some  hot  tea  !  There  I  was,  not 
writhing  with  choleraic  pain,  as  she  supposed,  but  oh  !  so 
hot !  Drenched  with  scalding  perspiration,  tormented  by 
the  shrill  chirping  of  the  young  swifts,  and  exhausted  by 
my  frantic  efforts  to  down  the  old  ones.  Visions  of  a 
bubbling  spring  on  the  hill-side  and  the  morning  breezes 
had  been  faintly  floating  before  my  eyes  whenever  I 
paused  for  a  moment's  rest,  and  at  such  a  time  and  when 
in  such  a  mood  to  be  asked,  "  Shall  I  bring  thee  some  hot 
tea?" 

My  reply  shall  forever  remain  unrecorded.  No  one 
knows  it,  for  my  hostess  did  not  catch  the  words ;  but  I 
was  sobered  by  the  interruption,  and  passed  the  remaining 
hours  until  dawn  regardless  of  the  fluttering  swifts  or 
their  chirping  young.  Instead,  as  I  crouched  by  the 
little  window,  hoping  for  cooler  air,  I  considered  the 
swifts  in  the  chimney.  There  seemed  to  be  a  hundred 
of  them,  and  each  as  active  now  as  in  broad  daylight. 
As  I  interpreted  the  sounds,  they  came  and  went  in  just 
such  an  intermittent  stream  as  characterizes  their  diurnal 
flights.  Is  this  true  ?  Dr.  Brewer  remarks  :  "  The  chim- 
ney swallow  is  crepuscular,  rather  than  nocturnal,  in  its 
habits.  .  .  .  When  they  have  young,  they  often  continue 
to  feed  them  until  quite  late  at  night.  They  are  not, 
however,  to  be  regarded  as  nocturnal,  as  they  are  only 
known  to  do  this  during  a  brief  period."  This  did  not 
hold  good  this  memorable  June  night.  There  was  posi- 
tively no  difference  between  9  p.  M.  and  3  A.  M.  The  birds 
left  and  returned  with  the  same  frequency  at  the  later  as 
at  the  earlier  hour.  Nor  have  I  found  that  this  evidence 
of  activity  at  night  occurs  only  when  there  are  young 
birds.  It  appears  rather  to  be  a  common  habit  from 
April  to  November,  but  more  pronounced  during  May 
and  June.  But  then  the  demands  of  the  young  are  not 
confined  to  these  two  months.  Several  times  I  have 


166  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

found  nests  of  young  swifts  as  late  as  September.  Dr. 
Brewer  says  that  in  Pennsylvania  the  swift  is  reported  as 
double-brooded.  I  do  not  know  about  this,  but  the  ap- 
pearances indicate  that  they  are  even  triple- brooded,  and 
often  quite  ignore  the  lateness  of  the  season.  It  is  noth- 
ing uncommon  for  them  to  leave  young  birds  to  starve 
when  they  finally  decide  upon  their  autumnal  migra- 
tion. 

The  anatomy  of  the  chimney  swift  does  not  suggest  a 
nocturnal  bird,  and  the  thought  that  only  when  there  is  a 
bright  moon  are  they  active  at  night,  arises.  Continuous 
observations  do  not  bear  this  out.  Be  it  ever  so  dark,  or 
even  stormy,  it  matters  little.  Indeed,  I  have  not  been 
able  to  detect  any  difference,  and  so  the  bird  has  remained 
to  me  a  mystery. 

But  June  has  many  another  mystery  than  this.  It  is 
the  month  that  overflows — the  month  when  all  nature 
presses  to  the  fore,  and  the  student  rambler  is  apt  to  do 
the  least,  though  now  the  days  are  longest,  bewildered  by 
the  ever-present  confusion  that  surrounds  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

JULY. 

WITHIN-  a  stone's  throw  of  my  house  there  stands  a 
beech  tree  that  dates  back  to  the  days  of  the  Indian.  At 
least,  I  know  that  it  was  called  by  every  one  in  the  neigh- 
borhood "  the  big  beech  "  in  1770,  and  so  it  is  safe  to 
claim  for  it  a  century  prior  to  the  date  named ;  and  the 
probability  is  that  it  has  rounded  three  full  centuries. 
Near  it  stand  two  others,  each  about  half  the  size  of  the 
beech,  and  their  interlacing  branches  give  the  impression 
of  one  enormous  tree,  at  a  little  distance.  Practically, 
they  are  one,  and  in  their  broad  shadow  throughout  July's 
sunny  days  it  is  more  than  a  comfort  to  linger — it  is  a 
luxury. 

This  "  brotherhood  of  venerable  trees "  stand  on,  or 
rather  cling  to,  the  face  of  a  steep  terrace ;  the  largest  of 
the  three  in  front.  It  is  a  mere  step  to  leap  from  the 
ground  into  the  tree,  but  when  you  look  outward  you  look 
also  downward,  and  there  are  a  thicket  and  forest  of  small 
trees  fifty  feet  below,  while  beyond  all  are  the  wide  meadow 
and  winding  river.  It  makes  one  shudder  to  think  of  such 
a  tree  losing  its  hold,  for  the  crash  would  be  terrific ;  but 
there  is  no  danger.  Trees  such  as  this  have  roots  to  cor- 
respond with  their  skyward  growth. 

A  word  as  to  the  tree's  dimensions.  It  is  eleven  feet 
in  circumference,  six  feet  from  the  ground,  and  at  about 
this  distance  start  upward  the  primary  divisions,  six  enor- 


108  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

mous  branches ;  these  again  divide  many  feet  above,  and 
finally  all  terminate  in  a  labyrinth  of  leaf-bearing  twigs 
that  effectually  shut  out  the  sun.  This  leafy  roof  is  s*ixty 
feet  above  me  when  I  stand  at  the  base  of  the  main 
branches. 

One  does  not  always  care  to  ramble  at  mid-day,  at  least 
in  July,  so  I  frequently  find  myself  terminating  the  day's 
stroll  at  a  convenient  twist  of  certain  of  the  beech's  largest 
limbs,  that  collectively  afford  an  incomparable  resting- 
place,  with  a  sloping  back  and  arms  of  equal  comfort  and 
greater  security  than  most  modern  furniture  affords. 
There  is  no  creaking  of  loose  joints  nor  danger  of  collis- 
ion with  other  chairs.  Hercules  himself  could  not  have 
rocked  over  in  this  easy  chair,  and  even  the  blizzard  of 
last  March  did  nothing  more  than  make  it  tremble.  A 
few  bits  of  coarse  bagging  nailed  from  limb  to  limb 
smooth  away  all  asperities,  and  luxury  in  its  truest  sense 
is  here,  if  anywhere,  at  hand. 

But  what  is  gained  by  sitting  in  a  tree  ?  So  much 
that  my  allotted  space  would  not  suffice  to  catalogue  it. 
Rather,  what  is  not  gained  ?  Cozily  seated  among  beechen 
boughs — are  not  those  five  words  tantalizing  to  the  toil- 
worn  folks  of  the  cities,  even  in  early  July  ?  Here  is  a  gain 
not  given  to  him  who  happens  to  be  on  the  ground,  even 
though  sitting  in  the  shade  of  some  old  tree.  I  find  that 
I  am  far  less  an  object  of  suspicion,  and  the  birds  ignore 
me  while  I  take  note  of  their  pretty  ways. 

The  casual  observer  might  think  that  the  July  woods 
are  entirely  deserted,  and  that  little  transpired  in  compari- 
son to  the  hum  and  bustle  of  boisterous  May.  But  this  is 
a  sad  mistake.  May  is  much  like  a  crowded  street ;  July 
more  like  the  quiet  centers  where  the  great  business  trans- 
actions of  the  world  are  quietly  effected.  What  birds  we 
now  have  are  here  for  the  summer,  and  are  nesting  too, 
just  now,  so  whatever  transpires  is  bird  life  at  its  best. 


JULY.  169 

The  truth  is,  July  woods  are  never  absolutely  quiet.  I 
was  astir  recently  at  3.40  A.  M.,  and  the  festival  of  welcom- 
ing the  dawn  had  already  commenced.  The  wood-peewees 
were  the  first  to  sing ;  then  the  robins ;  these  were  fol- 
lowed by  house- wrens ;  the  song-thrush  coming  to  time  a 
tuneful  fourth,  and  not  until  broad  daylight  did  the  dozen 
or  more  songsters  that  frequent  my  yard  join  in  the  con- 
cert. But  when  they  did,  the  volume  of  sound  was  won- 
derful ;  and  I  fancied  that  it  steadily  increased  until  the 
sun  was  fairly  above  the  horizon,  and  then  gradually  died 
away.  By  5  A.  M.  the  woods  were  comparatively  silent, 
and  two  hours  later,  still,  to  a  marked  degree.  What  then 
is  heard  is  an  almost  ceaseless  chirping,  and  the  business 
of  the  day — feeding  and  warning  young  birds — has  com- 
menced. Sounds  like  insect-humming,  that  scarcely  break 
the  silence,  of  course  continue  and  increase  in  volume  as 
the  noontide  approaches ;  but,  however  shrill  these  may 
be,  all  other  sounds  are  heard  through  them.  Even  the 
harvest-flies — be  they  ever  so  noisy — do  not  drown  the 
plaintive  song  of  the  wood-pewee. 

With  the  birds  busy,  and  the  temperature  ninety  de- 
grees in  the  shade,  one  should  not  expect  a  continual  con- 
cert, nor  feel  surprised  if  there  happened  an  occasional 
quiet  hour.  But  I  am  giving  now  my  own  opinion,  and 
not  that  of  certain  birds ;  for  here  in  the  beech  is  a  pair 
of  nesting  red-eyed  vireos,  and  never  the  day  too  hot  for 
them.  Thoreau  has  written : 

Upon  the  lofty  elm-tree  sprays 

The  vireo  rings  the  changes  meet, 
During  these  trivial  summer  days,   - 

Striving  to  lift  our  thoughts  above  the  street. 

Here  the  days  are  too  full  to  be  trivial,  and  the  lively 
birds  lift  my  thoughts  to  the  branch  whereon  hangs  their 
pretty  nest  that  sways  in  every  passing  breeze,  yet  never 


170  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

fails  to  hold  its  contents  safely.  From  my  seat  among  the 
larger  branches  I  can  see  the  sitting  bird  plainly,  and  it 
often — so  I  think — eyes  me  with  a  deal  of  curiosity  in  its 
countenance.  A  week  ago  it  was  timidity  that  filled  its 
breast,  but  not  so  now.  To-day  no  sooner  had  the  bird 
left  its  nest  than  it  hopped  to  within  three  feet  of  me,  and 
while  preening  its  feathers  looked  at  me  with  an  inquiring 
gaze.  Whether  satisfied  or  not,  I  do  not  know,  but  soon 
it  fell  to  singing  and  fly-catching,  threading  the  maze  of 
branches  high  overhead,  and  often  coming  back  to  its 
perch  just  in  front  of  me.  Perhaps  it  thought  so  long  as 
I  remained  where  I  was,  the  nest  and  its  contents  were 
safe.  I  have  little  doubt  but  that  this  was  the  impelling 
motive,  yet  it  needed  no  active  imagination  to  interpret 
the  bird's  actions  as  evidence  that  it  desired  a  closer  ac- 
quaintance, and  I  almost  expected  at  times  to  be  politely 
offered  a  worm.  All  went  well  for  several  days,  and  I  an- 
ticipated much ;  but  suddenly  a  change  came  over  the 
poor  redeye's  dreams.  In  a  desolate,  absent  manner  it 
haunted  the  tree  but  avoided  the  nest,  and  its  mate  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  I  ventured  to  examine  the  nest,  and 
found  the  eggs  gone  and  a  single  one  of  a  cow-bird  in 
their  place.  For  once  this  fraud  in  feathers  had  not  de- 
ceived the  redeye.  It  knew  it  had  been  villainously  im- 
posed upon,  and  would  not  be  comforted.  I  threw  out  the 
egg  with  much  vehemence,  and  just  then  the  troubled 
redeye  chirped  loudly.  I  took  it  as  commendatory  of  my 
act. 

I  miss  these  birds,  but  they  have  cousins  that  have 
been  more  fortunate.  '  The  warbling  vireos  sing  inces- 
santly. When  at  noon  even  robins  are  in  doubt  and 
the  indigo  finch  stops  to  consider,  they  loudly  laugh  at 
the  idea  of  discomfort,  and  do  not  even  seek  the  shade. 
A  pair  of  these  have  a  nest  near  by,  but  I  can  not  find  it. 
It  is  so  near  that  its  position  is  unsuspected,  and  next  au- 


JULY.  171 

tumn,  when  the  trees  are  bare,  I  shall  find  it  and  wonder 
how  it  was  possible  that  it  escaped  detection  before.  The 
warbling  vireos  carry  worms  to  a  certain  tree,  and  then 
like  lightning-flashes  disappear.  It  is  provoking,  but  at 
ninety  degrees  in  the  shade,  what  can  I  do  ?  I  can  sit  in 
the  beeches  and  wonder,  but  never  a  day's  nesting  for  me 
in  the  middle  of  July. 

Another  pair  kept  closely  to  the  corner  of  the  house, 
but  I  found  them  out  at  last.  Search  for  a  long  time  had 
proved  futile,  but,  as  has  so  often  happened,  what  I  had 
in  vain  hunted  for  was  discovered  by  accident.  A  large 
nocturnal  moth,  such  as  one  seldom  sees  during  the  day, 
was  flying  about  the  upper  branches  of  a  tall  old  locust 
tree,  and  had  attracted  the  attention  of  a  cat-bird.  I  saw 
them  both,  the  moment  the  latter  made  an  attack,  and 
was  watching  the  absurd  antics  of  the  cat-bird,  bewildered 
as  it  was  by  the  flapping  of  the  moth's  huge  wings.  The 
commotion  was  all  too  near  the  vireo's  young  for  that 
bird's  fancy,  and  its  distress  led  to  the  discovery  of  the 
nest — a  pretty  structure,  leaf-hidden  and  far  out  of  reach. 

Another  bird  that  visits  me  while  in  the  beeches  is 
the  less  well  known  black  and  white  tree-creeping  warbler. 
A  long  name  for  a  little  bird,  but  nothing  else  has  ever 
been  suggested.  It  is  a  warbler,  but  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  warble ;  it  creeps  all  day  long  among  the  trees,  but  in 
one  sense  is  not  a  creeper.  A  nice  muddle  in  the  matter 
of  names,  but  unavoidable.  This  bird  contents  itself  with 
a  monotonous  tzeez — tzeez — tsis,  uttered  at  irregular  inter- 
vals, and  all  the  while  it  is  intent  upon  insect  hunting. 
Recently  I  saw  one  with  a  worm  wriggling  in  its  beak.  It 
seemed  somewhat  ill  at  ease — the  bird  no  less  than  the 
worm — and  chirped  in  a  peculiar  manner.  I  happened  to 
be  seated  upon  the  ground  at  the  time,  and  remained 
motionless,  to  see  what  direction  the  bird  would  go,  for 
I  knew  it  had  a  nest.  But  it  would  not  go,  and  it  dawned 


172  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

upon  me  I  might  be  very  near  the  nest  where  I  sat,  and 
so  was  the  cause  of  the  bird's  discomfort.  This  proved  to 
be  true.  I  had  one  foot  dangerously  near  the  structure, 
which  filled  a  little  cave  that  I  think  the  bird  must  have 
dug.  Perhaps  not ;  but  it  was  a  happy  find,  if  of  other 
origin.  A  more  unlikely  place  could  not  well  be  imagined. 
I  quickly  withdrew,  but  kept  my  eye  on  the  spot,  and 
soon  the  bird  flew  to  it  and  then  came  away,  chirping  in 
a  very  satisfied  manner.  It  evidently  thought  that  all 
danger  was  passed;  and  so  it  was,  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned. The  young  were  nearly  ready  to  leave  their  nest, 
and  two  days  after,  when  I  again  visited  the  spot,  I  found 
the  brood  had  dispersed.  It  was  not  a  voluntary  nest- 
leaving,  however,  and  soon  I  found  one  of  the  young  birds 
perched  in  a  low  shrub.  The  antics  of  the  parent  bird 
were  very  amusing  and  at  times  pathetic.  By  every  means 
it  endeavored  to  draw  me  away  by  feigning  every  degree 
of  helplessness.  Its  strangest  action  was  to  raise  one  wing 
straight  up  and  trail  the  other,  as  though  it  was  broken, 
and  then  run  along  the  ground  with  a  ludicrous  halt  gait. 
Finding  this  of  no  avail,  it  came  very  near  me  and  chirped 
vigorously,  and  induced  the  timid  young  bird  to  leave  its 
perch  and  hide  in  the  grass  near  by. 

The  other  young  were  some  distance  off  and  not  to- 
gether ;  so  the  parent  bird  had  a  hard  time  of  it  feeding 
them.  I  saw  but  one  parent,  and  this  is  true  of  the  one 
other  nest  I  have  found.  Does  the  male  bird  leave  his 
mate  after  incubation  commences  ?  I  have  found  many 
a  nesting  bird,  particularly  vireos  and  fly-catchers,  where 
but  the  one  parent  was  to  be  seen ;  and  I  am  as  yet  unable 
to  determine  the  cause.  These  pretty  creeping  warblers 
have  no  end  of  pretty  ways,  and  often  are  surprisingly 
unsuspecting.  I  wandered  into  a  weedy  meadow  recently, 
having  no  special  object  then  in  view.  Do  not  think  be- 
cause a  meadow  is  weedy,  it  is  necessarily  repulsive.  This 


173 

one  was  pink  with  pale  erigeron,  golden  with  buttercups, 
purple  with  flags,  and  afar  off  a  tardy  cockspur  thorn 
recalled  the  memorable  snow-drifts  of  March,  so  dense 
and  purely  white  were  its  clustered  blossoms.  Above  all, 
towered  a  splendid  shellbark  hickory,  and  here  I  sat  down. 
Inquisitive  sparrows  quickly  found  me  out,  and  I  had 
company  from  that  moment.  Other  birds  came ;  then  a 
snake,  and  finally  a  waddling  tortoise.  To  all  appearance 
I  was  certainly  in  luck,  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  I  soon 
wearied  of  my  friends,  and,  not  only  this,  but  ere  long  fell 
asleep.  For  a  considerable  time,  leaning  against  the  shell- 
bark's  shaggy  trunk,  I  slept  soundly,  and  was  roused  by 
the  rattling  thrill  of  the  loose  ribbons  of  bark  that  hang 
from  these  trees  when  fully  grown.  One  of  these  curled 
strips  was  still  trembling,  almost  in  contact  with  my  ear, 
as  I  opened  my  eyes.  I  saw  no  cause  for  this,  and  just  as 
I  raised  my  hand  to  rub  my  filmy  eyes,  a  little  bird,  with 
a  shrill  chirp,  flew  from  my  side. 

As  is  so  seldom  the  case,  I  had  my  wits  about  me  at 
the  right  moment,  and,  trusting  for  a  solution  of  the 
matter,  remained  perfectly  still.  Presently  a  faint  rat- 
tling was  heard  that  quickly  became  louder,  and  a  black 
and  white  tree-creeping  warbler  came  around  the  tree 
just  in  a  line  with  my  face.  It  came  so  near  me  that  I 
could  not  see  it,  for  I  dared  not  move  a  muscle,  and  then 
halted,  as  though  not  quite  satisfied  that  I  was  a  part  of 
the  tree.  I  waited  for  perhaps  a  minute  and  then  heard 
the  bird  move  from  me  when  I  ventured  to  turn  my  face 
toward  it.  Our  eyes  met,  or  at  least  I  saw  its  plainly,  and 
with  a  frightened  chirp  it  darted  away. 

I  shall  never  know  but  always  shall  believe  that  this 
bird  once  ran  directly  over  me.  I  can  give  no  reason, 
save  the  paltry  one  that  I  thought  I  could  feel  the  tingle 
of  its  claws  across  my  face. 

I  am  not,  on  second  thought,  disposed  to  stamp  this 


174:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

as  absurd.  I  have  often  been  astonished  at  the  boldness 
of  many  a  timid  creature  when  it  believed  the  dreaded 
foe  before  it  was  either  asleep  or  dead.  Nor  can  it  be 
shown  that  bravery  or  fear  depends  upon  the  presence  or 
absence  of  motion.  Certainly  both  birds  and  mammals 
have  discriminative  powers  largely  developed,  and  recog- 
nize even  slight  differences.  We  alj  know,  too,  how  in- 
different birds  become  to  locomotives,  even  when  the 
whistle  screams  and  the  smoke-stack  belches  forth  its 
sooty  clouds. 

I  have  noticed,  while  lounging  in  the  beech  tree's 
branches,  for  how  long  the  young  of  many  birds  follow 
their  parents.  This  feature  of  bird-life  necessarily  varies 
a  great  deal,  but  is  more  prolonged  with  many  species  than 
is  recorded.  Many  a  young  bird  is  practically  helpless  for 
days  after  it  has  learned  to  fly.  "What  an  awkward  little 
ragamuffin,  for  instance,  is  the  young  nuthatch  when  ac- 
quiring his  scrambling  powers !  I  watched  one  of  a  late 
brood  recently  imitating  its  parent,  and  it  was  pure  imi- 
tation. Not  a  morsel  did  it  find,  or  expect  to,  I  take  it, 
for  it  never  ceased  a  most  doleful  chirping  which  touched 
the  heart  of  the  lithe  parent,  which  fed  it  continually 
with  white,  waxy  grubs  delved  from  hidden  crannies  in 
the  bark.  When  the  old  bird  flew,  the  youngster  followed, 
and  the  call  of  the  former  was  always  echoed  by  the 
querulous  cry  of  the  fledgling.  If  other  birds  came  near, 
it  flew  to  the  branch  whereon  its  parent  happened  to  be  at 
the  moment,  and  begged  protection  with  trailing,  trem- 
bling wings. 

The  flicker — or  pigeon  woodpecker — often  feeds  its 
young  when  the  latter  are  fully  grown  and  strong  upon 
the  wing ;  the  rose-breasted  grosbeak  does  the  same,  and 
last  summer  a  brood  of  pewees  was  fed  at  times,  by  their 
parents,  after  a  second  brood  was  hatched  and  constantly 
clamoring  for  food.  Busier  birds  than  these  poor  parents 


JULY.  175 

I  never  saw,  yet  they  accepted  the  situation  with  apparent 
cheerfulness. 

Nor  is  it  unusual,  I  may  add,  to  see  young  birds  fol- 
lowing their  parents  in  this  half -helpless  way,  even  as  late 
as  the  first  week  in  October.  I  refer  to  migratory  birds — 
species  said  not  to  nest  nearer  than  northern  New  Eng- 
land. If  so,  then  young  birds  capable  of  a  long  migra- 
torial  journey  accompanied  their  parents,  and  were  often 
fed  by  them.  But  another  possibility  suggests  itself.  May 
there  not  be  overlooked  areas  in  northern  New  Jersey — 
hemlock  forests,  rhododendron  ravines,  spots  that  are  cool 
as  autumn  the  summer  long — where  straggling  pairs  lurk 
unseen  and  rear  their  young  ?  It  is  nonsense  to  say  that 
this  or  that  report  of  the  occurrence  of  a  bird  is  a  case  of 
"  faulty  identification  of  the  species."  Our  birds  are  not 
so  very  similar  in  appearance,  as  a  rule,  to  make  this  prob- 
able, and  I  have  record  upon  record  of  early  appearance  in 
autumn  (September),  or  even  earlier,  of  northern  species 
which  I  believe  had  not  been  so  extremely  far  away ;  and 
this  matter  of  young  but  wing-strong  birds  still  following 
their  parents,  bears  out  the  impression  gained  from  other 
sources,  that  our  home  mountains  are  not  yet  sufficiently 
well  studied.  Then,  too,  there  are  occasional  instances  of 
birds  breaking  the  rigid  rule  of  their  kind,  which  may 
not  be  repeated  for  years.  The  wood-tattler — or  solitary 
sandpiper — has  nested  in  central  New  Jersey.  Here  is  a 
case  where  faulty  identification  is  simply  impossible. 

I  recently  sought  a  cool  retreat  of  which  I  had  heard 
the  day  before,  hoping  there  to  escape  the  terrors  of  a  tor- 
rid day.  I  hopefully  trudged  for  more  than  a  mile  down 
a  sunny  highway  where  the  shrill  creaking  of  crickets  was 
the  only  sound  I  heard.  Every  weed  was  wilted ;  not  a 
daisy  but  was  brown  with  gritty  sand,  and  the  one-time 
starry  St.  John's-wort  was  dulled  with  dust.  Still  I 
plodded  on,  hoping  the  cedars,  each  in  its  angle  of  an  old 


176  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

worm  fence,  would  offer  a  cool  shade  for  a  moment's  rest, 
but  the  comfort  I  fancied  proved  a  fancy  only.  Then  the 
road  turned  abruptly  and  a  hedge  of  nature's  planting 
cast  a  long  shadow ;  here  I  tarried,  doubtful  if  anything 
better  could  be  found.  The  panting  sparrow  from  the 
fields  beyond  gathered  here,  and  squirrels,  snakes,  and 
turtles  found  it  a  pleasant  refuge.  But  for  me  the  spot 
proved  a  relief  merely  by  contrast,  and  I  foresaw  the  com- 
ing noon-tide.  It  would  surely  prove  but  a  fool's  paradise, 
and  the  cool  retreat  for  which  I  had  started  loomed  up  as 
a  garden  of  delights.  I  turned  without  regret  from  the 
birds  in  the  hedge,  though  they  sang  cheerily,  and  the 
wild  roses  that  brightened  the  shady  nooks,  and  again 
hurried  on  until  the  old  mill  was  reached. 

There  is  something  sweetly  seductive  in  those  words, 
"  the  old  mill."  How  vividly  the  broad  pond  with  its 
deeply  indented  shores  and  floating  isles  of  lilies  comes  to 
mind!  And  the  tumbling  waters  at  the  dam;  the  mill 
itself,  dusty  with  the  grists  of  ages ;  and  the  sparkling  race, 
where  the  freed  waters  rejoice  as  though  conscious  of 
valued  labors  well  performed.  Not  a  feature  here  but 
suggests  escape  from  tropical  July ;  still  I  pass  all  by  un- 
heeded, and,  with  careful  steps  and  slow,  seek  that  mys- 
terious depth  beneath  the  mill  where  steadily,  for  nearly  a 
century,  a  dripping  wheel  has  turned.  Not  a  ray  of  the 
outer  world's  bright  sunshine  could  reach  me  here,  and 
glittering  moss  replaced  the  parched  grasses  of  the  road- 
side. 

But  my  friend  had  hoaxed  me.  Of  course  it  was  a 
cool  retreat,  but  the  hygrometric  conditions  were  not  to  be 
ignored.  Cool,  but  oh,  so  wondrous  damp  !  The  very  air 
was  dripping  with  tangible  mist.  I  had  been  victimized, 
but  my  thoughtlessness  deserved  the  punishment.  Still, 
a  few  minutes  spent  in  such  a  place  could  work  no  ill, 
and  I  ventured,  as  a  zoologist,  upon  its  exploration  be- 


JULY.  177 

fore  re-entering  the  tropics  overhead.  It  was  a  lucky 
thought. 

Peering  into  the  wide  cracks  between  the  huge  stones 
of  the  mill's  foundation  walls,  I  found  many  a  one  was 
tenanted.  Lithe  salamanders,  spotted  frogs,  a  mouse,  and 
huge  gray  spiders  innumerable  were  brought  to  light,  and 
either  darted  into  inaccessible  crevices  or  boldly  plunged 
into  the  waters  beneath  the  wheel.  One  frog  was  a  phi- 
losopher. He  leaped  upon  the  descending  face  of  the 
wheel  and  sat  there,  the  picture  of  content  and  defiance, 
until  the  water  was  reached,  when  he  dived  into  its  spark- 
ling depths. 

Wlwit  these  frogs  found  to  eat  can  only  be  conjectured ; 
for,  indifferent  as  they  appeared  to  be  in  the  matter  of 
food,  I  doubt  if  one  would  dare  to  pounce  upon  the  fero- 
cious-looking spiders  which  alone  represented  invertebrate 
life  in  this  semi-aquatic  spot.  Possibly  these  frogs  were 
cannibals.  This  is  not  unusual.  I  have  at  present  in  a 
Wardian  case  a  specimen  of  the  rare  green  tree-toad,  or 
Anderson's  hyla,  captured  in  "  the  pines "  of  southern 
New  Jersey.  While  feeding  it  with  flies  a  few  days  ago — 
which  it  takes  from  my  fingers — I  was  startled  by  the 
sudden  on-rush  of  a  little  wood-frog,  which,  impatient  for 
its  own  dinner,  seriously  attempted  to  swallow  both  the 
tree-toad  and  my  fingers  at  one  mighty  gulp.  Being  pre- 
pared by  the  initial  attempt,  I  coaxed  the  frog  into  re- 
peating the  effort.  A  mighty  effort  it  was,  too !  With 
widely  gaping  jaws,  which  were  distended  before  the  leap 
was  made,  the  frog  attempted  to  scoop  up  the  toad  and 
swallow  it,  or  get  such  a  hold  as  would  make  subse- 
quent swallowing  an  easy  task ;  and  yet  the  difference  in 
size  of  the  two  creatures  was  very  little.  As  for  the  tree- 
toad,  it  took  the  whole  proceeding  as  a  matter  of  course, 
not  moving  a  muscle,  even  when  such  great  danger  was 
apparently  imminent.  The  whole  tribe  of  tailless  batra- 

12 


178  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

chians  are  much  alike  in  this  respect,  seemingly  taking  it 
for  granted  that  they  were  born  to  be  eaten,  and  stuff 
themselves  until  fate  wills  it  that  they  go  to  stuff  others. 
There  is  an  exception  to  this  that  deserves  mention — all 
these  creatures  have  a  wholesome  dread  of  snakes — but 
the  common  hop-toad  is  the  greatest  coward.  Frogs  hop 
away  as  fast  as  they  can  go ;  but  the  toad  will  squeal  as 
he  hurries  off,  and  cries  most  piteously  the  moment  the 
snake's  teeth  pierce  his  wrinkled  skin.  But  I  am  scarcely 
wrong  so  far  as  frogs  are  concerned.  I  have  seen  little 
fellows,  just  from  the  tadpole  state,  in  dangerous  prox- 
imity to  patriarchal  bull-frogs,  which  were  then  only  wait- 
ing for  their  appetites  to  return  to  swallow  a  half-dozen 
of  their  own  grandchildren.  It  is  strange  that  infantile 
frogs  should  have  an  instinctive  fear  of  snakes,  and  yet 
none  of  their  greater  enemies,  the  adults  of  their  own 
race. 

As  I  disturbed  the  frogs,  all  took  refuge  in  the  water 
beneath  the  wheel,  and  then  worked  their  way  down 
stream  toward  the  outer  world.  I  followed,  but  without 
creeping  under  the  wheel,  and  found  where  I  little  ex- 
pected it  a  positively  cool  and  yet  not  superlatively  damp 
retreat.  The  sparkling  water  ran  over  a  pebbly  channel, 
shut  in  from  the  direct  sunlight  by  a  swinging  gate,  a  half- 
circle  in  shape,  which  nearly  closed  the  great  stone  arch 
in  the  mill's  foundation  wall.  Here  I  sat  down  to  watch, 
not  only  the  frogs,  but  a  whole  host  of  little  fishes,  and 
soon  found  that  my  discovery  of  this  truly  pleasant  place 
was  an  old  story  with  the  birds.  This  sheltered,  hidden, 
half-dark  mill-race  was  their  favorate  bathing-place. 

A  fearless  wren  was  the  first  to  appear ;  then  a  song- 
sparrow;  then  several  barn-swallows;  and  finally  a  cat-bird. 
Except  the  swallows — which,  perhaps,  did  not  actually 
bathe,  although  they  dipped  into  the  ripple — these  birds, 
as  bathers,  are  very  much  alike,  the  wren,  strangely  enough, 


being  more  timid  than  the  others.  The  song-sparrow  ap- 
peared to  dive,  but  really  did  not,  and  neither  it  nor 
the  cat-bird  waded  into  water  more  than  an  inch  deep. 
Perhaps  this  was  due  to  the  swiftness  of  the  current,  as 
every  movement  suggested  that  the  birds  feared  to  loose 
their  foot-hold.  How  I  wanted  to  give  them  a  good  push 
from  the  rear,  just  as  I  have  treated  timid  small  boys  ! 

It  is  somewhat  surprising  that  many,  if  not  all  strictly 
land  birds,  do  not  voluntarily  take  to  swimming,  consider- 
ing that  they  all,  when  wounded,  can  paddle  over  the 
water  at  a  lively  rate.  Many  a  chase  have  I  had  for  crip- 
pled birds  in  the  old  barbarous  collecting  days.  It  is 
true,  these  wing-tipped  birds  could  not  rise  unaided  from 
the  water ;  but  such  an  accomplishment  could  readily  be 
acquired,  if  these  same  birds  would  but  practice.  This 
remark  may  possibly  provoke  a  smile,  but  it  is  not  foolish, 
nevertheless.  I  have  known  birds  to  practice  much  more 
difficult  feats,  and  persevere,  too,  until  they  were  masters  of 
the  art.  But  there  is  one  land  bird  that  can  float  as  buoy- 
antly as  a  duck,  and  take  wing  again  when  it  desires — the 
familiar  crow  blackbird  or  purple  grakle.  An  excellent 
observer  informs  me  that  he  has  often  seen  the  blackbirds 
settle  upon  the  river  in  the  wake  of  a  passing  boat  and 
gather  the  floating  morsels  that  had  been  thrown  over- 
board ;  that  he  had  thrown  bits  of  bread  from  his  skiff, 
and  seen  the  birds  alight  upon  the  waters  and  swim 
up  to  them,  eating  the  smaller  pieces  and  carrying  off  one 
of  the  larger  masses.  My  informant  described  the  birds' 
movements  as  painfully  awkward  in  appearance,  if  they 
were  not  so  in  fact,  but  never  were  they  unsuccessful. 
The  tail  and  wings  were  kept  in  an  upraised  position  and, 
constantly  in  motion,  as  if  to  keep  a  buoyant  current  of 
air  constantly  beneath  them,  upon  which  they  depended 
when  flight  was  resumed.  What  these  purple  grakles  do 
is  within  the  capabilities  of  our  thrushes  and  finches,  and, 


180  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

could  food  be  got  in  no  other  manner,  few,  I  imagine, 
would  starve  before  they  learned  to  swim. 

To  return  to  the  bathers.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to 
watch  the  sparrow  and  cat-bird  preening  their  feathers, 
each  perched  upon  a  projecting  pebble,  from  which  they 
could  see  themselves  reflected  in  the  water,  albeit  a  quiver- 
ing and  distorted  image.  Did  they  recognize  it?  At 
least,  the  wren  did  not,  as  it  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  stream,  scanning  the  stone  wall  in  hopes  of  a  lunch. 
Think  of  a  house-wren  contemplating  a  stone  wall  in 
silence  !  Yet  this  one  did ;  but  it  soon  proved  too  great 
a  task,  and  as  it  darted  through  a  knot-hole  into  the  outer 
world,  I  heard  its  fault-finding  chatter,  even  above  the 
drip  and  rattle  of  the  ponderous  water-wheel. 

Before  they  left,  the  swallows  went  through  a  series  of 
bewildering  antics  in  front  of,  above,  and  almost  beneath 
the  wheel.  In  and  out  the  rolling  cloud  of  mist  and 
through  every  thin  sheet  of  water  pouring  from  the 
wheel's  broad  front,  these  birds  pursued  some  phantom 
through  the  trackless  air.  Not  for  a  second  did  they 
check  their  course,  nor  cease  to  chatter  as  they  threaded 
like  lightning  the  cramped  quarter  of  the  wheel-house. 
What  was  their  object?  Do  not  ask.  Although  there 
may  be  many  who  assume  to  know,  it  were,  in  truth,  as 
idle  to  question  the  Sphinx  as  to  attempt  to  unravel  the 
mystery  of  bird  ways.  Again  and  again,  as  the  year  rolls 
by,  the  rambler  must  be  content  to  merely  witness,  not  to 
unfathom  the  why's  and  wherefores  of  a  bird's  doing ;  but 
still  this  unpleasant  experience  does  not  go  for  naught. 
It  very  soon  teaches  him  that  birds  are  something  beyond 
what  those  who  should  know  better  have  asserted  them 
to  be.  To  learn  this  is  a  great  gain.  It  is  well  to  give 
heed  to  him  or  her  who  carries  a  spy-glass ;  but  as  to  him 
who  merely  carries  a  shot-gun,  and  robs  birds'  nests  in 
the  name  of  science,  faugh  ! 


JULY.        .  181 

So,  sitting  here,  within  sight  and  hearing  of  the  mist- 
enveloped  wheel,  I  spent  the  long  torrid  summer  after- 
noon. Perhaps  he  who  thought  to  play  a  joke  upon  me 
became  frightened  at  my  non-appearance  and  imagined 
me  dead  or  helpless  in  the  gloomy  depth,  as  he  pictured 
it.  I  have  not  yet  had  sufficient  curiosity  to  ask  him 
what  he  thought ;  but  when  I  met  him  on  my  way  home 
in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  his  astonishment  rendered  him 
speechless  as  I  descanted  upon  the  wheel-room's  merits 
and  thanked  him  for  his  suggestion. 

It  was  one  of  the  unpleasant  features  of  a  recent  out- 
ing to  see  a  bird  and  not  be  sure  of  its  identity.  Perhaps 
it  was  a  mocking-bird,  a  partially  albino  cat-bird,  or  a 
Southern  shrike.  I  incline  now  to  the  latter  opinion. 
They  are  much  like  their  Northern  cousins,  the  butcher- 
birds, in  every  habit,  and  not  very  dissimilar  in  appear- 
ance. The  bird  I  saw  came  from  over  a  wide  reach  of 
meadows  and  flew  directly  to  the  nearest  woods.  There 
it  alighted  upon  an  exposed  branch  of  an  oak,  and  from 
where  I  sat  I  could  see  it,  but  not  so  distinctly  as  to  deter- 
mine its  colors.  The  shrike,  if  this  it  was,  seemed  restless 
and  uncertain  as  to  its  movements,  and  impatiently  jerked 
its  tail,  as  though  it  would  shake  it  off.  Presently  it  dived 
into  the  thicket  beneath,  and  at  once  there  was  a  commo- 
tion among  the  small  fry.  Sparrows,  warblers,  and  tits 
appeared  in  numbers,  chattering  vehemently.  This,  more 
than  all  else,  makes  me  think  that  the  bird  was  a  South- 
ern shrike. 

The  great  Northern  butcher-bird  is  also  more  likely 
to  be  seen  about  the  creeks  than  in  any  point  of  the  up- 
lands. The  character  of  the  winter  does  not  affect  its 
movements,  but  in  December,  if  not  earlier,  it  comes, 
be  the  weather  moderate  or  cold,  and  in  April  it  departs. 

I  remember  one,  demure  as  a  scheming  crow,  with  eyes 
half  shut  and  with  not  a  trace  of  treachery  or  cunning  in 


182  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

his  face.  His  blue  and  white  plumage,  tastefully  trimmed 
with  black,  made  him  conspicuous,  but  he  lessened  the  ill 
effects  of  this  fact  by  the  manner  he  assumed.  No  bird, 
however  timid,  would  step  aside  for  such  as  he.  Indeed, 
they  perched  upon  the  same  branch  of  the  tree  he  was  on, 
almost  upon  the  same  twig,  and — where  was  he  ?  Like  a 
flash  the  shrike  had  disappeared,  and  now,  fifty  paces  dis- 
tant, he  is  perched  upon  another  tree,  plucking  feathers 
from  a  kinglet's  head  and  regaling  himself  with  his  vic- 
tim's brains. 

This  incident  recalls  one  of  these  birds  I  called  my 
"  garden "  shrike,  for  in  that  inclosure  he  remained 
nearly  three  months.  It  is  now  ten  years  ago,  but  there 
is  no  change  except  the  absence  of  this  cunning  bird.  I 
first  saw  him  on  the  morning  of  November  30.  It  was 
a  cool,  pleasant  autumn  day,  with  a  veil  of  thin  clouds 
overhead  that  allowed  only  semi-sunshine  to  sift  through, 
affording  a  light  that  casts  no  shadow  and  is  the  most 
grateful  to  the  eyes.  Northern  sparrows  were  abundant, 
and  the  winter  sojourners  generally  had  arrived,  among 
them  many  kinglets.  My  garden  shrike  may  have  followed 
them ;  at  all  events,  a  moment  after  I  saw  him  for  the 
first  time,  he  had  a  kinglet  in  his  beak. 

My  indignation  at  the  killing  of  this  bird  caused  me 
to  drive  the  murderer  away,  and  for  a  week  I  saw  no 
more  of  him.  The  tall  weeds  in  the  garden  did  not,  I 
think,  conceal  him,  and  a  host  of  small  birds  were  ap- 
parently free  from  all  molestation.  But  shrikes  are  never 
abundant,  and  I  soon  regretted  my  attack.  Had  I,  indeed, 
permanently  frightened  him  ?  Should  he  come  back,  he 
might  have  a  bird  a  day,  without  my  interference,  pro- 
vided he  went  to  the  highway  for  English  sparrows.  I 
certainly  could  spare  no  kinglets  from*  my  door-yard,  even 
that  I  might  study  a  shrike.  It  mattered  nothing  what  I 
wished,  thought,  or  promised  concerning  him.  That 


JULY.  183 

shrike  was  in  the  garden  all  the  while,  and  but  for  close 
inspection  of  every  bush  for  cocoons,  I  might  never  have 
seen  him.  As  it  was,  he  proved  unlike  others  of  his 
tribe,  and  all  day  long  sat  mopish  as  an  owl — except  upon 
occasion. 

In  past  years  when  I  have  met  with  these  birds,  they 
have  been  as  active  as  thrushes,  and  in  their  movements 
so  like  them  that,  when  known  at  all,  they  are  thought  to 
be  birds  of  that  family.  They  have  a  few  harsh  utter- 
ances peculiar  to  themselves,  and  a  knack  of  mimicking 
other  birds  to  a  limited  extent.  This  also  adds  to  their 
thrush-like  features,  and  has  led  to  their  being  called 
"  mocking-birds."  Not  altogether  a  misnomer,  either,  for 
they  have  a  direful  way  of  mocking  at  the  protests  small 
birds  make  when  their  true  characters  are  recognized ;  and 
conclude  their  mockery  by  killing  another  and  another  of 
the  fault-finders. 

I  do  not  know  how  far  it  holds  good  elsewhere,  but 
shrikes  in  winter,  as  I  have  found  them,  prefer  the  banks 
of  creeks,  and  particularly  such  as  are  overgrown  with 
evergreens.  In  other  words,  they  skulk  among  the 
cedars  rather  than  roam  about  the  fields,  and  seldom 
take  a  protracted  flight.  In  the  limited  area  they  choose 
for  their  winter  haunts,  they  are  content  to  remain,  pro- 
vided the  food  supply  is  kept  up ;  but  they  are  not  con- 
tent to  remain  idle.  They  are,  rather,  constantly  on  the 
go,  but  only  from  one  tree  to  another,  and  at  intervals 
rushing  with  closed  wings  from  the  dense  cedars  to  some 
thicket  near  by,  from  which  they  promptly  reappear,  with 
their  victims  held  hopelessly  in  their  powerful  beaks. 

One  of  several  mysteries  connected  with  the  flight  of 
birds  is  this  of  protracted,  swift  progression  with  closed 
wings.  I  have  seen  a  shrike  leave  a  tree  by  giving  two 
or  three  vigorous  strokes  of  the  wings,  and  then,  with 
these  held  closely  to  the  body,  swiftly  pass  into  a  thicket 


18i  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

or  another  tree.  To  be  sure,  it  was  a  downward  progres- 
sion in  every  case,  but  the  angle  of  declination  was  but 
slight,  and  the  alighting  point  evidently  predetermined, 
and  the  body's  motion  was  under  control  of  the  bird's  will 
as  much  as  though  the  wings  were  in  use.  That  two  or 
three,  or  even  half  a  dozen  strokes  of  the  wings  should 
impart  to  the  bird's  body  sufficient  impetus  to  progress 
fully  one  hundred  feet  is  incredible ;  yet  there  appears  to 
be  no  other  explanation  of  the  fact.  I  believe  no  other 
bird,  except  the  falcons,  can  exercise  this  power  to  the 
same  degree ;  and  even  with  them  it  is  always  a  steeply 
sloping  course,  and  not  one,  as  with  the  shrike,  but  a  few 
degrees  from  a  horizontal  line. 

As  the  winter  wore  away  the  shrike  became  weaker 
and  quite  tame.  I  offered  him  bits  of  raw  beef,  which  he 
gladly  devoured,  but  would  never  permit  of  my  near  ap- 
proach. At  first  I  placed  these  bits  of  beef  on  sharpened 
twigs,  just  as  the  bird  is  accustomed  to  impale  small 
birds  and  insects,  but  those  that  I  so  placed  the  shrike 
would  not  eat.  He  did  not  even  notice  them,  apparently. 
When,  on  the  other  hand,  I  laid  the  food  on  dead  leaves 
in  exposed  positions,  he  would  fly  down  and  dart  at  each 
piece  as  though  it  was  alive,  and  then  and  there  devour  it ; 
or,  seizing  it  in  his  beak  fly  back,  to  his  perch  in  the  quince 
bush,  and  swallow  the  morsel  after  having  held  it  for 
several  minutes. 

His  efforts  to  fly  when  upon  the  ground  were  very 
curious.  Having  almost  no  use  of  his  injured  legs,  the 
shrike  would  throw  himself  backward  until  his  body  was 
nearly  perpendicular,  and  then,  by  a  quick  vibration  of  the 
wings  and  an  impetuous  forward  movement  of  the  body, 
it  would  be  uplifted  sufficiently  to  enable  the  bird  to  fly 
as  usual.  Occasionally  the  first  and  even  the  second  at- 
tempt would  prove  failures,  and  the  bird  would  become 
so  exhausted  that  a  rest  for  several  minutes  was  necessary. 


JULY.  185 

Taking  advantage  of  the  bird's  absence,  I  pointed  a 
number  of  twigs  of  the  .quince  bush,  and  offered  many 
more  bits  of  beef  than  the  bird  could  eat,  but  none  were 
gathered  and  impaled,  as  this  bird  when  in  .health  gathers 
and  impales  much  of  its  prey.  This  was  not  because  the 
disabled  bird  was  unable  to  do  so,  as  care  was  taken  to 
have  a  series  of  available  thorn-like  points  within  easy 
reach  of  his  accustomed  resting-place.  It  is  a  little  pecul- 
iar that  although  there  are  one  or  more  shrikes  on  the 
hill-side,  and  others  along  the  creek,  every  winter,  yet 
almost  never  do  they  indulge  in  this  habit  of  impaling 
their  prey.  Is  it  because  food  is  always  abundant  ? 

The  monotonous  life  of  my  garden  shrike  came  to  a 
tragical  ending.  It  was  a  beautifully  cool,  crisp  February 
morning,  with  every  weed  in  the  garden  sparkling  with 
feathery  frost.  All  our  winter  birds  were  astir  and  sing- 
ing merrily.  Up  from  the  hill-side  came  a  pair  of  cardi- 
nals, and  they,  too,  whistled  their  best  tunes  in  the  garden. 
"While  seed-hunting,  suddenly  these  restless  redbirds  came 
upon  the  half-hidden  shrike.  With  a  loud  chirping  that 
brought  a  robin  and  several  grakles  to  the  spot,  they  com- 
menced an  attack  upon  the  unfortunate  creature.  Get 
out  of  the  quince  bush  he  must,  whistled  the  redbirds, 
yet  no  one  dared  to  make  a  direct  assault.  Finally  the 
robin  madly  dashed  at  him,  and  started  the  persecuted 
shrike  from  his  perch.  A  little  half -helpless  tumble,  and 
he  was  on  his  wings,  and,  regardless  of  all  the  others,  pur- 
sued one  of  the  officious  cardinals.  Away  it  flew,  scream- 
ing, over  the  hill-side,  into  a  thicket  of  smilax,  followed 
closely  by  the  shrike.  Whether  the  latter  was  actually  in 
pursuit  or  not  could  not  be  determined,  although  I  fol- 
lowed as  best  I  could.  In  the  thicket  I  lost  the  birds, 
and  quiet  reigned  in  the  garden,  as  well  as  on  the  hill- 
side ;  so  the  birds  had  apparently  gone  far  off  over  the 
meadows.  But  it  proved  otherwise ;  as,  later  in  the  day, 


188  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

at  the  foot  of  a  tall  cedar,  I  found  a  few  red  feathers  and 
near  them  the  body  of  the  shrike. 

This  plucky  bird  was  greatly  emaciated,  and  the  legs 
showed  they  had  been  injured  months  before.  Crippled 
as  he  was,  he  had  wandered  from  his  distant  home,  and, 
under  enormous  disadvantage  managed  to  provide  for  him- 
self almost  to  the  time  of  returning  to  his  summer  haunts 
in  the  North,  or,  at  least,  to  the  cooler  mountains. 

There  are  other  carnivorous  birds  than  hawks  and 
shrikes.  Among  the  gentle  songsters  of  our  gardens  we 
see  little,  if  any,  evidence  of  their  blood-thirsty  propensi- 
ties, and  yet  they  all  possess  them  to  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree. Evidence  of  this  can  be  had,  particularly  during 
the  nesting  season,  by  watching  patiently  a  single  indi- 
vidual or  a  pair  of  birds.  When  our  small  birds  fight 
among  themselves  or  with  other  species  death  seldom  re- 
sults. Never  does  a  sparrow,  for  instance,  attack  another 
that  it  may  feed  upon  it ;  but  are  not  all  birds,  however 
gentle  they  may  appear  to  us,  nest-robbers  at  times? 
Occasion  offering,  will  not  the  great  majority  of  even  seed- 
eating  birds  kill  and  at  least  attempt  to  devour  newly 
hatched  birds  ?  This  is  a  broad  question — a  sweeping  in- 
ference ;  but  I  make  it  after  years  of  endeavor  to  persuade 
myself  that  it  is  not  true.  What  bird  can  be  less  suggest- 
ive of  cruelty  than  the  turtle-dove ! — yet  I  have  seen  a  pair 
of  these  birds  attack  and  kill  a  whole  brood  of  redstarts 
that,  leaving  their  nest  too  soon,  rested  upon  a  branch 
close  to  the  dove's  nest.  We  all  know  how  ready  are 
chickens  to  eat  raw  meat  as  well  as  young  mice,  birds,  or 
fish ;  and  quails,  in  early  summer,  will  devour  the  eggs 
and  young  of  song-sparrows  and  bay-winged  buntings. 
Of  this  I  have  positive  knowledge ;  and  even  the  nests  of 
larger  birds  are  not  safe.  The  late  T.  A.  Conrad,  the  geol- 
ogist, informed  me  that  he  once  witnessed  a  long  combat 
between  a  quail  and  a  brown  thrush,  the  former  having 


JULY.  187 

raided  the  nest  of  the  latter.  Mr.  Conrad  said  that  the 
quail  endeavored  to  avoid  the  attacks  of  the  thrush  by 
dodging  among  the  thick  weeds,  but  was  not  always  suc- 
cessful, as  the  thrush  made  downward  swoops,  as  a  hawk 
would,  and  appeared  to  use  both  beak  and  claws  to  advan- 
tage. The  quail  was  ultimately  forced  to  retreat. 

How  well  I  remember  a  long-drawn  battle  between  a 
pair  of  great-crested  fly-catchers  and  of  bluebirds.  By 
chance  they  had  chosen  hollows  in  adjacent  apple  trees  for 
their  nests,  and  so  were  brought  daily  into  more  or  less 
close  association.  So  far  as  I  could  see,  all  went  well.  The 
fly-catchers  hawked  for  insects  among  the  tree-tops ;  the 
bluebirds  were  content  with  worms  from  near  the  ground. 
But  by  and  by  the  eggs  of  the  bluebirds  were  hatched — 
at  least,  I  assume  that  they  were — and  at  that  time  the 
young  of  the  fly-catchers  were  well-nigh  grown.  Before 
sunrise,  one  morning,  when  the  bluebirds  were  happier 
than  usual,  there  arose  a  clatter  in  the  lane,  such  as  I  have 
seldom  heard  among  birds. 

Every  robin  stopped  singing,  the  wrens  forgot  their 
broods,  orioles  screeched,  and  every  cat-bird  bawled  Mur- 
der !  without  knowing  what  the  trouble  was.  Even  the 
poultry  took  it  up,  and  for  many  minutes  that  quiet,  shady 
lane,  ordinarily  the  very  picture  of  peace,  was  an  actual 
Pandemonium.  It  did  not  take  many  minutes  to  fathom 
the  mystery.  While  every  bird  present  was  thoroughly 
excited,  there  were  four  upon  which  my  attention  was  at 
once  centered.  Brave  as  lions,  the  bluebirds,  little  furies 
now,  hurled  themselves  against  the  fly-catchers,  which, 
although  stronger,  could  not  withstand  them.  Vainly 
they  attempted  to  dodge  their  pursuers,  but  the  bluebirds 
were  too  quick.  They  had  acquired  new  powers,  and 
with  strength,  courage,  and  endurance  I  never  supposed 
them  to  possess,  they  drove  the  fly-catchers  far  a-field  and 
kept  them  there. 


188  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

The  bluebirds  had  been  robbed  and,  of  course,  had 
caught  the  fly-catchers  in  the  act.  The  event  narrated 
proves  this ;  and  while  I  saw  no  trace  of  the  murdered 
in  the  young  nest  of  the  latter,  the  bluebirds'  home  was 
empty. 

Even  in  the  seemingly  gentle  song-bird  world,  every 
community  is  made  up  of  saints  and  sinners. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AUGUST. 

EXCEPT  in  magnificent  floral  displays,  August  is  not  a 
favorite  month  with  the  naturalist.  The  characteristic 
features  of  summer  are  well-nigh  over,  and  when  we  linger 
in  the  shade  of  the  old  oaks,  our  thoughts  are  more  apt 
to  revert  to  what  has  been,  than  to  become  centered  upon 
what  is.  And  yet  how  prone  we  are  to  forget  the  char- 
acter of  the  seasons,  once  they  are  passed !  Probably  the 
remarkable  rainfall  and  excessive  humidity  of  the  summer 
of  1887  were  forgotten  as  soon  as  the  dusty  days  of  Sep- 
tember came  with  their  blinding  clouds  of  grit  and  whirl- 
ing pillars  of  new-fallen  leaves.  As  compared  with  other 
summers  in  the  last  decade,  it  was  one,  however,  that  a 
naturalist  is  likely  to  remember. 

Our  total  annual  rainfall  varies  exceedingly.  It  has 
been  as  little  as  23-35  inches,  and  as  much  as  67  inches. 
Comparing  1886  and  1887,  there  was  a  difference  of  8'49 
inches  for  the  first  ten  months  of  the  year,  and  this  was 
largely  confined  to  May  and  the  three  summer  months. 
Of  course,  an  additional  rainfall  of  two  inches  effects  great 
changes. 

Let  us  consider  the  birds,  as  the  most  prominent  form 
of  animal  life  in  ordinary  country  neighborhoods.  Late 
in  April  and  early  in  May  the  usual  host  of  thrushes, 
warblers,  and  finches  appeared  in  their  accustomed  haunts. 
They  came,  they  sang,  they  nested ;  and  the  middle  of 


190  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

June  found  most  of  them  with  nothing  to  do  but  gather 
in  the  damp  nooks  and  corners,  and  eat.  Time  hung 
heavily  upon  their  wings.  The  season  had  proved  favor- 
able in  all  respects,  no  nest-destroying  storms  occurring ; 
so,  by  June  20,  the  songs  at  dawn  had  largely  dwindled  to 
twitterings  of  robins  and  plaint  of  fretful  pewees.  There 
was  not  that  absolutely  songless  condition  that  might  be 
inferred  from  the  writings  of  many  ornithologists  as  com- 
mon to  summer  after  nesting  was  practically  over — a  con- 
dition that  never  occurs — but  the  vigor  of  the  May-day 
concerts  was  wanting.  Then,  late  in  June,  came  the  rains, 
the  fogs,  the  phenomenal  temperature.  The  upland  fields 
became  meadows;  the  meadows,  marshes;  the  marshes, 
weedy  ponds.  A  tropical  luxuriance  characterized  all 
vegetation.  Insect  life  responded  to  these  conditions,  and 
besides  mosquitoes,  forms  available  as  food  for  birds  were 
abundant  and  widely  spread.  Instead  of  the  limited 
range  that  a  drought  causes,  the  birds  were  as  well  off  in 
one  spot  as  another,  and  soon  their  spring-time  vigor  re- 
appeared. First,  the  songs  at  day-break  were  renewed ; 
then  the  old  nesting-sites  were  revisited,  and  many 
species  that  ordinarily  nest  but  once,  nested  a  second 
time ;  this  being  true,  I  think,  of  all  such  birds  as  place 
their  nests  in  comparatively  sheltered  places.  The  orioles, 
on  the  contrary,  made  no  such  attempt,  and,  more  strange- 
ly still,  the  grakles,  that  colonized  the  pines  about  my 
house  as  usual,  did  not  relish  the  constant  winds,  rain, 
and  electrical  storms,  and  sought  the  sheltered  meadows 
after  the  first  brood  were  strong  upon  the  wing.  This  I 
never  knew  them  to  do  before. 

The  change  in  habits  among  mammals  was  not  notice- 
able, except  in  the  case  of  the  musk-rat,  which  wandered 
into  the  upland  fields  and  ensconced  himself  in  little 
hollows,  ordinarily  dry  but  now  miniature  lakes.  The 
marsh  turtles  shared  the  fields  with  the  box-tortoise ;  the 


AUGUST. 

marsh  frogs  associated  with  the  upland  toads ;  and  these 
often  looked  hopelessly  at  sea,  with  puddles  replacing  all 
their  sandy  haunts  and  rank  grass  growing  where  seldom 
a  blade  of  grass  had  grown  before.  Even  the  water  snakes 
ventured  from  the  creek  and  summered  in  the  highlands, 
finding  many  a  pool  that  sufficed  them  when  they  yearned 
for  a  comfortable  swim. 

Many  of  the  forest  trees  budded  again  and  grew  a 
new  series  of  leaves,  and  early  flowers  reopened  their 
blossoms  and  gave  the  botanist  an  excellent  opportunity 
to  compare  fresh  specimens  of  such  as  bloom  in  April 
with  those  that  blossom  late.  Some  of  the  early  autumn 
blossoms,  on  the  other  hand,  were  hastened  to  maturity, 
and  particularly  about  our  water  courses  September 
flowers  were  prominent  in  early  August.  This  may  not 
have  been  due  to  the  season,  however,  for  these  plants 
vary  every  year,  according  to  locality,  and  often  single 
plants  bloom  much  in  advance  of  their  proper  time.  But, 
more  strangely  still,  some  species  that  were  abundant  a 
year  ago  are  now  not  to  be  found.  They  have  totally  dis- 
appeared. Whether  this  has  been  brought  about  by  the 
weather,  or  causes  in  operation  last  winter,  as  ice,  is  diffi- 
cult to  determine ;  but  such  sudden  appearances  and  dis- 
appearances are  not  uncommon.  In  the  case  of  the  sum- 
mer of  1887  the  excessive  rainfall  might  well  be  a  cause 
of  a  plant's  disappearance,  inasmuch  as  the  ground  was 
so  thoroughly  soaked  that  the  roots  must  have  been  in- 
jured, if  not  destroyed ;  while  the  year  before,  for  months 
the  same  spot  was  comparatively  dry,  and  then  the  plant 
flourished  admirably.  But  plants  also  appeared  where 
they  had  not  grown  before.  Some  instances  of  this  kind 
were  very  marked.  Upon  a  knoll  in  one  of  the  higher 
meadows,  which  usually  supports  no  other  plant  life  than 
dwarfish  mosses  and  lichens,  there  suddenly  appeared 
many  patches  of  bluets  and  scattered  clusters  of  pent- 


192  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

stemon,  the  flower  blooming  late  in  August  as  freely  as 
ever  in  June.  Equally  marked,  but  with  less  apparent 
reason,  was  the  second  flowering  of  marsh  marigolds, 
which  gilded  a  long  strip  of  marsh  during  the  last 
weeks  of  August  as  brilliantly  as  they  had  done  four 
months  before.  Stress  should  not  be  laid,  however,  upon 
plants  blooming  "  out  of  season."  Here  on  the  meadows, 
protected  by  the  high  terrace  that  surrounds  them  from 
the  north  winds,  plants  know  no  seasons,  or  respect  none, 
as  they  do  upon  the  upland  fields.  Dandelions,  bluets, 
and  violets,  of  the  better  known  flowers,  have  been  found 
in  bloom  every  month  in  the  year. 

There  is  an  important  lesson  to  be  learned  from  such 
a  summer  as  the  one  now  waning — a  lesson  that  has  not 
been  taught  by  those  who  lecture  upon  zoology ;  a  lesson 
not  laid  down  in  the  text-books — the  want  of  fixity  of 
habit.  Usually,  in  our  natural  histories,  after  a  description 
of  an  animal  is  given,  there  is  a  paragraph,  perhaps  a 
dozen,  on  the  habits  of  the  animal,  and  these  are  detailed 
in  such  a  way  that  one  gets  the  idea  that  the  creature 
referred  to  is  a  sort  of  machine.  That  it  comes  and  goes, 
eats,  drinks,  and  sleeps,  in  precisely  the  same  manner,  day 
in  and  day  out,  and  once  you  have  seen  it  you  have  seen 
it  forever. 

This  mathematical  regularity  is  often  dwelt  upon  as 
characteristic  of  bird  migration,  but  it  does  not  hold 
good ;  and  again  of  nesting  habits,  but  the  past  summer 
contradicts  it ;  and  so  through  every  phase  of  bird  life ;  it 
can  be  shown  that  while  any  given  species  will  prove 
much  the  same  bird,  year  after  year,  if  the  seasons  are 
similar,  it  needs  but  little  change  to  bring  about  all  the 
differences,  especially  in  nesting  habits,  such  as  I  have 
described  as  observed  during  the  close  of  the  summer. 

Another  phase  of  the  subject  may  be  touched  upon — 
the  close  relationship  between  various  forms  of  animal  life, 


AUGUST.  193 

of  plant  life,  and  the  weather.  There  can  be  no  doubt  but 
that  the  birds  were  stirred  to  renewed  activity  by  the 
unusual  abundance  of  insects  available  for  food,  and 
these  again  had  scarcely  any  struggle  for  existence,  be- 
cause of  undiminished  vigor  of  plant  life  due  to  the  unu- 
sual rainfall.  The  interrelationship  was  clearly  evident 
to  any  thoughtful  observer,  and  yet  it  would  be  impossible 
to  follow  the  chain  link  by  link.  One  feature  of  the  con- 
ditions described  was  unmistakable — every  form  of  life 
common  to  a  given  locality  was  exceedingly  abundant,  and 
I  well  remember  how,  late  in  the  evening,  as  I  noted 
down  the  occurrences  of  the  day,  the  noise  of  the  katy- 
dids, the  crickets,  and  nocturnal  insect-life  generally,  far 
exceeded  that  of  any  preceding  summer  that  I  remem- 
bered ;  but  while  our  birds  very  generally  sing  long  after 
their  nesting  labors  are  over,  nevertheless,  it  was  some- 
thing of  a  novelty  as  August  closed  to  hear  the  rose- 
breasted  grosbeak  singing  at  sunset,  with  the  full  measure 
of  his  springtide  ardor ;  to  hear  the  thrushes  in  the  lane 
recall  the  evenings  when  the  apple  blossoms  made  my 
yard  a  garden  of  roses ;  to  hear,  mingled  with  the  crickets' 
autumn  cries,  the  many  voices  that  mark  early  May  morn- 
ings as  red-letter  days. 

The  summer  of  1887,  as  we  have  seen,  was  a  remarkable 
one  in  many  ways,  and  in  nothing  more  pronouncedly  so 
than  in  its  influence  upon  animal  life.  It  showed  us  the 
most  familiar  forms  in  new  roles,  and  demonstrated  be- 
yond all  question  that  no  bird,  and  probably  no  animal  of 
any  class,  is  so  fixed  in  its  habits  that  sudden  and  radical 
changes  may  not  occur. 

A  word  in  conclusion.  I  have  spoken  of  the  excessive 
rainfall  in  the  Middle  States  ;  perhaps  it  was  not  uniform, 
and  in  the  valley  of  the  Delaware  more  excessive  than 
east  or  west  of  it ;  and  I  would  have  my  readers  bear  in 

13 


194  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

mind  that  I  am  treating  of  a  limited  locality  that  has  been 
daily  under  my  observation.  Because  of  the  assumption 
that  what  is  true  of  one  locality  must  be  true  of  all — at 
least,  I  can  think  of  no  other  explanation — I  have  time 
and  again  had  my  attention  called  to  conditions  noticed 
by  others  which  conflicted  with  my  observations  as  de- 
scribed by  me,  and  the  question  asked  if  I  was  not  proba- 
bly mistaken.  It  never  occurs  to  a  critic  that  possibly  he 
may  have  been  misled  or  misinformed.  The  explanation 
lies  in  the  fact  that  even  meteorological  phenomena  are  not 
always  wide-spread.  My  correspondence,  on  the  whole, 
has  proved  instructive  to  me,  if  not  wholly  satisfactory  to 
those  to  whom  I  have  sent  replies,  for  it  has  led  to  deter- 
mining, in  many  cases,  that  even  but  a  few  miles  away,  an 
animal  or  a  plant  may  have  quite  different  habits  and 
habitats  from  what  obtains  near  where  I  live.  Let  no 
one  be  surprised,  then,  when  comparing  notes  with  his 
neighbor,  to  find  how  widely  asunder  are  their  impres- 
sions of  the  same  creatures,  plants,  and,  I  may  add,  phe- 
nomena. 

I  heard  a  katydid  last  night,  the  first  of  these  tiresome 
singers,  and,  I  am  told,  there  will  be  frost  in  six  weeks. 
It  is  certainly  appropriate  that  the  frost  should  occur  on 
so  suggestive  a  date  as  September  21 — the  day  when  sum- 
mer really  ends.  But  August  suggests  the  close  of  the 
season  in  other  ways ;  the  gathering  of  the  reed  birds  in 
the  marshes,  the  flocking  of  the  blackbirds,  the  evening 
roostward  flight  of  the  crows,  to  say  nothing  of  early 
asters  and  golden-rod,  among  flowers  that  are  now  bloom- 
ing along  the  dingy,  dusty  roads.  I  have  noticed  all 
these,  and  some  at  a  much  earlier  date  than  the  first  faint 
lisping  of  a  timid  katydid ;  and  all  such  sights  and  sounds 
are  similarly  suggestive — the  summer  is  drawing  to  its 
close. 


AUGUST.  195 

To  determine  what  shall  be  the  objective  point  of  an 
August  ramble  is  seldom  an  easy  task.  Occasionally  there 
is  a  bewildering  profusion  of  attractive  features;  fre- 
quently, there  is  a  dearth  of  them. 

Kecently,  when  neither  upland  nor  meadow  appeared 
specially  attractive  in  the  glare  of  August  sunshine,  I 
plunged  into  a  pathless  marsh,  led  on  solely  by  a  hope  of 
novelty. 

Except  you  have  had  experience  in  such  tramps,  there 
is  little  to  attract  one,  however  rank  the  vegetation,  gor- 
geous the  bloom,  brilliant  the  butterflies,  or  abundant  the 
manifold  forms  of  life  ;  for  the  charm  of  a  ramble  is  lost 
when  too  prominent  a  feeling  of  uncertainty  as  to  your 
own  safety  surrounds  you — when  we  lack  the  assurance  of 
a  firm  footing.  How  often  I  hesitated  to  leave  the  trem- 
bling tussock  upon  which  I  stood,  not  knowing  but  a 
treacherous  quicksand  spread  out  before  me !  Still,  I  vent- 
ured on,  hidden  from  all  the  world  at  times  by  the  tall 
reeds  or  sword-like  foliage  of  the  stately  typha.  The  testy 
marsh  wrens  scolded  as  I  passed  ;  the  lisping  swamp  spar- 
row stared  and  stammered  from  his  perch,  and  great  blue 
herons  cast  ominous  shadows  as  they  fled.  Without  a  ves- 
tige of  reason  for  so  doing,  beyond  a  forlorn  hope  of  nov- 
elty, I  still  struggled  forward,  to  find  at  last  a  bush-clad 
island  of  firm  earth.  Here  was  a  happy  combination,  as 
it  proved,  of  novelty — an  evidence  of  summer's  close  and 
an  opportunity  to  rest. 

It  was  plainly  evident  that  what  was  now  a  marsh  had 
at  some  distant  time  been  a  broad  and  shallow  stream. 
There  was  yet  to  be  traced  a  narrow,  tortuous  channel, 
through  which  flowed  the  waters  that  gathered  here  from 
a  hundred  hill-foot  springs  near  by ;  and  now  this  un- 
suspected remnant  of  a  prehistoric  creek  was  indeed 
beautiful — gorgeous  with  its  wealth  of  pink  rose-mallow, 
not  pink  alone,  but  mingled  with  flowers  white  as  driven 


196  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

snow,  others  that  were  deep  rose-purple,  and  many  with 
a  brilliant  crimson  eye  that  glowed  like  coals  of  fire. 

I  had  not  been  overrash  although  the  outlook  was  so 
unpromising  at  the  start ;  for  here,  indeed,  was  novelty. 
In  past  years  this  water  plant  was  to  be  met  with  here 
but  very  sparingly,  and  now  there  were  hundreds  in  dense 
clusters.  The  birds  that  flew  over,  the  fishes  that  gazed 
skyward,  and  the  frogs  that  skulked  among  the  humbler 
weeds  alone  knew  of  this  bright  water  garden,  and  well 
had  they  kept  the  secret.  I  wondered  not  that  they  pro- 
tested so  vehemently,  when  by  lucky  chance  I  too  dis- 
covered it. 

Heresy,  if  you  please,  but  flowers  alone  can  not  fill  for 
me  a  long  summer's  day.  I  will  not  say  that  in  this  case 
I  tired  of  them ;  but  ere  long  I  was  ready  for  other  ob- 
jects to  fill  in  the  wide  landscape,  and  soon  they  came. 
A  pair  of  snowy  egrets  dropped  from  the  fleecy  clouds, 
sinking  earthward  with  as  soft  a  flight  as  might  bits  of  the 
clouds  themselves.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came,  until  I 
could  see  the  fluttering  down  upon  their  breasts.  Then, 
with  closed  wings,  these  beautiful  creatures  touched  the 
water  with  their  extended  feet  and  stood  upon  the  soft 
mud,  the  embodiment  of  grace.  They  came  to  rest  rather 
than  to  feed,  and  preening  a  misplaced  plume  was  the  extent 
of  their  labors.  Nor  did  they  speak.  I  could  not  detect 
the  faintest  utterance,  although  so  very  near  them.  Over 
a  little  space  of  open  water,  they  occasionally  walked  to  and 
fro,  as  if  the  statuesque  attitude  they  usually  assumed  be- 
came at  times  a  little  tiresome.  Despite  their  beauty  they 
were  stupid,  and  their  listlessness  robbed  them  of  all  in- 
terest after  a  few  minutes'  gazing  at  them.  I  became  im- 
patient at  last,  and  suddenly  emerging  from  my  retreat, 
shouted  loudly.  With  startled  cries  they  instantly  took 
wing  and  rose  to  a  great  height  before  deciding  upon  any 
course.  I  thought  that  they  might  return,  but  they  did 


AUGUST.  197 

not.  Nevertheless,  I  was  not  to  be  left  alone.  I  had 
startled  the  many  small  birds  that  throng  the  marshes, 
and  these  life-long  familiars  crowded  about  me.  I  am  not 
far  wrong  when  I  say,  the  smaller  the  bird  the  greater  its 
curiosity. 

Among  the  many  that  ventured  even  into  the  cluster 
of  button-bushes  that  was  my  shelter,  came  a  crested  tit- 
mouse, and  I  laughed  when  it  sang,  after  due  inspection 
of  the  spot,  V  sweet  here,  V  sweet  here !  The  bird  was 
right ;  I  had  found  an  enchanted  isle. 

"While  the  day  lasted  I  was  content  with  these  small 
birds — wrens,  thrushes,  warblers,  titmice,  and  sparrows. 
All  came  and  went  without  let  or  hinderance,  and  accepted 
my  presence  without  complaint,  as  some  had  done  while 
I  was  struggling  in  the  marsh.  Some  sang  sweetly,  and 
others  chirped  in  so  contented  a  strain  that  their  voices 
were  musical  by  merit  of  suggestiveness.  Association  is 
the  needed  charm  when  we  watch  the  birds.  The  stately 
egrets  were  soon  forgotten ;  but  who  can  forget  the  door- 
yard  songsters  that  have  been  favorites  for  years  ?  I  even 
forgot  the  treacherous  marsh  as  well  as  its  rare  visitors 
and  was  again  at  home.  My  feathered  friends  had  merely 
rambled  from  the  garden  and  lawn  with  me,  and  we  were 
sojourning  together  in  a  little  wilderness — a  picnic  more 
enjoyable  by  far  than  many  I  have  attended.  With  such 
fancies  I  whiled  away  the  sunny  afternoon,  and  feared  that 
no  trace  of  an  adventure  would  enter  into  the  day's  out- 
ing ;  but  at  last  it  came. 

Certainly,  not  one  of  the  birds  in  the  bushes  was  nest- 
ing ;  nor  were  any  accompanied  by  young  birds.  Think- 
ing of  this,  I  thought  to  imitate  the  cry  of  a  fledgling  in 
distress,  to  see  if  the  birds  near  by  would  be  disturbed. 
Immediately  a  cat-bird  shrieked  its  alarm  cry  and  came 
very  near  to  me.  It  located  the  sound  I  had  made  un- 
erringly and  berated  me  soundly  for  supposed  cruelty.  I 


198  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

was  harassing  a  young  bird,  it  thought,  and  must  give  it 
up.  The  marsh  wrens  were  straightway  up  in  arms,  but 
held  aloof ;  the  swamp  sparrows  twittered  excitedly,  but 
bravest  of  all  were  two  cat-birds.  They  longed  to  thrash 
me  soundly,  and  almost  came  within  my  reach.  As  sud- 
denly as  I  had  started  the  commotion  the  birds  suppressed 
it.  Since  that  day  I  am  convinced  that  sudden  thoughts 
occasionally  strike  a  bird.  When  most  demonstrative,  in 
the  abruptest  manner,  one  of  the  cat-birds  took  up  a  posi- 
tion directly  in  front  of  me,  but  was  silent.  He  remained 
but  a  second  and  then,  in  a  changed  voice,  chattered  im- 
pressively to  all  within  hearing. 

"  What  fools  we  have  all  been  !  "  he  seemed  to  say ; 
"  there  are  no  young  birds  now  to  worry  about " — and 
straightway  the  gathered  crowd  dispersed  in  almost  per- 
fect silence. 

I  may  be  in  error,  but  if  actions  ever  correctly  interpret 
an  animal's  intention,  this  story  of  the  cat-bird  is  literally 
true. 

It  was  with  a  tinge  of  regret  that  I  finally  retraced  my 
steps,  or  attempted  to  do  so.  I  found  less  supporting 
growth  and  deeper  mud  on  my  return,  but  reached  the 
higher  meadows  in  reasonable  time.  As  I  took  a  farewell 
glance  at  the  reed-hidden  isle,  locating  it  in  fancy,  for  it 
was  really  hidden,  a  cloud  of  redwings  settled  over  it  for 
the  night,  and  filled  the  air  with  the  matchless  charm  of 
their  flute-like  whistle.  So  what  indeed  matters  it  if  the 
katydids  do  sing,  and  summer  has  but  six  weeks  left  to 
it  ?  These  need  not  prove  six  weeks  of  idleness,  nor  will 
they  lack  abundant  charm,  if  happily  we  know  where  to 
look. 

In  one  secluded  corner,  where  the  old  worm  fence  was 
well-nigh  hidden  by  poison  ivy,  blackberry  briers,  and  a 
straggling  grape-vine,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  gray  lizard, 
one  doubtless  that  I  had  set  at  liberty  when  studying 


AUGUST.  199 

them  a  year  ago.  I  have  hopes  now  that  they  may  again 
flourish  on  the  home  hill-side,  as  they  did  long  years  ago. 

I  was  induced  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  constant  tropi- 
cal rambling  during  the  heated  term  of  August,  1887,  and 
spent  my  time  in  watching  a  host  of  these  lizards,  sent  me 
from  the  pine  barrens.  The  conclusions  reached  when  I 
studied  them  in  the  field,  three  months  before,  and  during 
many  a  long  sultry  August  afternoon,  subsequently,  I  trust 
will  bear  repeating. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  quaint  little  village  of  May's 
Landing,  New  Jersey,  there  is  seen  that  rare  object  an 
abandoned  railroad.  Starting  near  this  place,  and  run- 
ning eastward  for  a  distance  of  some  six  miles,  is  a  single 
track,  laid  upon  a  once  substantial  road-bed  of  gravel,  and 
extending  through  typical  Jersey  pine  barrens.  For  sev- 
eral years  not  a  car  has  passed  over  the  rails,  which,  left 
to  nature,  have  grown  nutty-brown  with  rust,  and  often 
concealed  by  luxuriant  growths  of  false  ipecac,  great  cir- 
cular mats  of  deep  purple  or  pale-green  foliage,  for  such 
is  the  freak  of  the  plant  to  vary  thus  in  color. 

When  1  visited  this  spot  late  in  May,  1887,  the  charm 
of  the  abandoned  railroad  was  rivaled  by  the  beauties  of 
the  surroundings.  The  glistening,  snow-white  sands  were 
thickly  starred  with  golden  Hudsonia ;  the  creek's  banks 
weighted  with  densest  foliage,  brilliant  with  sarracenia  in 
the  height  of  its  glory ;  and  everywhere  the  more  modest 
grasses  gave  way  to  sparkling  sun-dews.  One  knew  not 
where  to  turn,  so  crowded  were  the  spot's  enticing  feat- 
ures, and  the  rambler  was  likely  to  return  empty-handed, 
as  is  so  apt  to  be  the  case  where  attractions  are  spread 
out  in  bewildering  profusion.  Wondering  what  novelties 
might  be  in  store  as  I  passed  the  outlying  traces  of  the 
village,  I  soon  found  my  progress  suddenly  and  effectually 
stayed — I  had  reached  the  tottering,  crumbling  trestle 
over  Babcock's  Creek.  Here  the  gray  lizards  found  a 


200  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

most  congenial  home,  and  the  peculiar  locality  offered 
every  reasonable  facility  for  studying  them.  A  long-de- 
sired opportunity  was  at  last  mine,  and  birds  and  botany 
were  no  longer  thought  of. 

This  pretty  creature,  known  as  the  gray  or  pine-tree 
lizard,  is  also  in  many  localities  called  the  "  brown  swift " ; 
and  this  seems  a  most  appropriate  name,  as  we  read  the 
remarks  of  Holbrook,  De  Kay,  and  of  Alexander  Wilson,  on 
the  habits  of  the  creature.  For  instance,  the  last  named, 
in  his  "Ornithology,"  expresses  surprise  that  a  sharp- 
shinned  hawk  should  have  captured  one,  "as  lightning 
itself  seems  scarce  more  fleet  than  this  little  reptile."  I 
was  not  prepared,  therefore,  to  find  the  "  swifts  "  on  the 
trestle  anything  but  swift.  It  was  by  hiding,  and  not 
through  speed,  that  they  sought  to  escape,  and  it  proved 
comparatively  easy  to  capture  them  with  the  unaided 
hand.  Often  they  played  bo-peep  merely  around  the 
timbers,  and  were  readily  surprised,  so  that  they  ran  into 
one  hand  as  they  avoided  the  other.  This  proved  to  be 
the  case,  also,  when  I  searched  for  the  lizards  in  the  pine 
woods,  which  were  as  readily  captured  when  up  on  trees 
as  were  those  on  the  trestle. 

The  village  boys  adopted  ordinarily  the  simple  plan  of 
using  a  thread-noose  placed  at  the  end  of  a  short  stick. 
Dropping  the  noose  gently  about  the  neck  of  the  lizard, 
they  lifted  the  creature  slightly,  when  its  struggles  at  once 
tightened  the  thread  and  made  it  a  prisoner.  It  was  a 
favorite  pet  with  the  children,  and  when  I  asked  some  of 
them  if  it  ever  bit  or  snapped  at  their  fingers,  they  were 
greatly  amused.  I  lay  stress  upon  this  point,  because  of 
the  rather  widely  spread  opinion  that  these  lizards  are 
venomous.  It  is  one  with  the  equally  absurd  impression, 
due  to  ignorance  and  belittling  prejudice,  that  all  our 
snakes  are  harmful ;  but  a  curious  feature  in  this  case  is 
the  fact  that  the  impression  of  the  lizard  being  venomous 


AUGUST.  201 

obtains  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  abundance  of  the  animal. 
Where  exceedingly  rare  the  lizard  is  dreaded ;  while,  where 
abundant,  as  at  May's  Landing,  it  is  a  favorite  pet  with 
the  children. 

Probably  a  closer  study  of  animal  life  would  materially 
reduce  the  list  of  species  supposed  to  be  harmful  by  those 
who  see  but  little  and  know  absolutely  nothing  about 
them,  and  put  an  effectual  check  upon  those  who,  taking 
advantage  of  the  ignorance  of  their  audiences,  assert  de- 
liberate falsehoods,  because  more  entertaining  than  the 
simple  truth. 

As  is  well  known,  the  pine-tree  lizard  is  quite  sensitive 
to  low  temperatures.'  It  does  not  make  its  appearance  in 
southern  New  Jersey  earlier  than  May,  nor  remain  abroad 
later  than  September.  Of  course,  this  is  a  general  state- 
ment, and  only  approximately  true,  as  all  such  statements 
must  be.  Perhaps  there  can  be  found  nothing  more  ab- 
surd in  scientific  literature  than  the  frequent  ex-cathe- 
dra statements — for  instance,  concerning  the  movements 
and  range  of  our  birds,  as  though  the  latter  recognized 
any  other  law  than  that  of  their  own  convenience  and 
fancy. 

At  May's  Landing  I  found  the  lizards  sensitive  even 
to  the  ordinary  variations  of  temperature  of  average  sum- 
mer days,  observing  that  whenever  it  was  cloudy,  they 
were  far  less  abundant,  and  actually  sluggish.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  extreme  degree  of  heat  to  which  they  are 
willing  to  expose  themselves  is  not  a  very  high  one,  judg- 
ing from  the  actions  of  a  large  number  kept  in  confine- 
ment. 

Fifteen  adult  lizards  were  placed  in  an  inclosure  in 
which  every  prominent  feature  of  their  homes  was  repro- 
duced. I  found  that  at  120°  Fahr.,  with  the  atmosphere 
perfectly  still,  they  invariably  sought  shelter,  clustering  in 
one  cooler  and  dark  corner;  but  at  100°  they  were  ex- 


202  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

ceedingly  active,  particularly  if  hungry,  and  made  no 
effort  to  avoid  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun. 

When  exposed  to  a  sudden  transition  from  a  very  high 
to  a  low  temperature,  they  quickly  became  inert,  and,  as 
the  warmth  was  allowed  to  increase,  it  was  instructive  to 
see  the  sluggish  movements  of  both  the  lizards  and  the 
imprisoned  flies  give  way  to  more  active  ones,  which  culmi- 
nated in  the  restored  suppleness  of  the  reptiles  being  equal 
to  the  capture  of  the  swiftly  darting  insects.  Forced  ex- 
posure, for  a  period  of  three  hours,  to  a  temperature  of 
135°  caused  death  in  four  instances,  and  brought  about  a 
condition  akin  to  aestivation  in  nine  specimens  thus  ex- 
posed. As  the  pine-tree  lizards  are  always  found  in  local- 
ities where  there  is  adequate  shelter  from  excessively 
high  temperature,  it  is  not  probable  that  aestivation  ever 
occurs,  as  it  does  occasionally  among  some  of  our  wild 
mice  ;  but  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  a  condition  closely 
allied  to  it  can  be  artificially  produced. 

The  conclusion  reached  by  both  field  observation  and 
experiments  was,  in  brief,  that  when  the  temperature  is 
such  that  those  forms  of  insect  life  upon  which  they  de- 
pend become  inactive,  the  lizards  withdraw  to  their  shel- 
ters and  likewise  remain  quiet  if  not  asleep,  this  period  of 
inactivity  extending  over  several  days,  as  during  the  prev- 
alence of  a  northeast  storm,  or  a  protracted  "  spell "  of 
cool  and  cloudy  weather.  Again,  experiments  with  a  large 
number  in  confinement  showed  that  when  kept  without 
food  at  a  low  temperature,  they  live  for  many  days,  while 
a  like  number  starved  in  a  short  time  when  a  high  tem- 
perature was  maintained.  This  lizard,  therefore,  appears 
to  be  one  originally  belonging  to  a  tropical  climate  that 
has  gradually  become  adapted  to  a  temperate  and  variable 
one. 

The  normal  coloring  of  the  pine-tree  lizard  is  distinctly 
protective.  Whether  this  has  been  gradually  acquired  or 


AUGUST.  203 

not,  it  is  certain  that  it  now  renders  the  animal  quite  in- 
conspicuous. Particularly  when  it  is  resting  upon  a  rough- 
barked  tree  is  this  true ;  and  one  of  my  first  objects  in 
studying  the  species  in  its  native  haunts  was  to  determine 
how  far  the  markings  were  changeable  and  under  their 
owner's  control.  Many  specimens  were  found  to  be  quite 
dark — indeed,  almost  black — while  others  were  so  light 
that  the  undulating  transverse  bars  upon  the  back  were 
very  distinct  and  discernible  at  a  considerable  distance. 
This  difference,  I  am  quite  sure,  bore  no  relation  to  the 
surroundings;  and  the  specimens  subsequently  collected 
and  kept  under  daily  observation  for  nine  weeks  practi- 
cally retained  the  light  or  dark  coloring  they  possessed  at 
the  time  of  capture.  In  confinement  many  individuals 
remained  of  a  light  color  under  all  circumstances ;  others, 
that  were  dark  when  received,  became  light  for  brief  peri- 
ods, but  were  very  dark  fully  ninety-five  per  cent  of  the 
time  they  were  under  observation. 

The  long  and  broad  glistening  green  markings  upon 
each  side  of  the  abdomen  are  equally  variable — certainly 
not  a  distinction  of  sex,  as  suggested  by  Le  Conte  and  Say — 
and  often  absent  for  weeks  in  specimens  which  occasion- 
ally exhibited  them  in  all  their  brilliancy. 

In  no  instance  was  there  that  prompt  change  of  hue 
that  we  see  in  the  tree-toad,  and  even  more  so  in  the 
wood-frog.  The  change  in  the  latter  is  as  abrupt  and 
complete  as  in  certain  fishes,  and  is  particularly  significant, 
inasmuch  as  it  is  the  only  frog  that  needs  protective  color- 
ing, living  as  it  does  in  woodland  tracts,  where  it  is  ex- 
posed to  an  abundance  of  enemies;  and  may  it  not  be 
that,  by  its  power  to  adapt  itself  to  the  general  color  of 
the  surroundings,  it  renders  itself  inconspicuous  to  the 
insects  upon  which  it  preys  ?  If  so,  the  control  over  its 
color  becomes  doubly  advantageous. 

Vision  in  the  pine-tree  lizard  is  apparently  not  very 


204  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

acute,  although  the  eyes  are  exceedingly  bright,  arid,  when 
coupled  with  certain  movements  of  the  head,  suggest  con- 
siderable intelligence.  It  was  found  very  difficult  to  test 
their  visual  powers,  although,  once  captured,  these  lizards 
became  extremely  tame,  patient,  and  obedient,  and  I  could 
only  infer  that  the  sense  of  sight  was  none  of  the  best  from 
the  fact  that  when  held  to  a  mosquito-frame  in  a  window, 
upon  which  house-flies  were  walking,  they  missed  fully  one 
half  of  those  at  which  they  snapped ;  and  other  lizards  in 
confinement,  but  where  every  possible  freedom  of  move- 
ment was  practicable,  often  made  many  attempts  to  capt- 
ure flies  before  success  crowned  their  eiforts.  If,  there- 
fore, when  at  large,  they  depended  principally  upon  winged 
insects  for  subsistence,  their  lives  would  indeed  be  labori- 
ous ones ;  but  insects  of  sluggish  movements,  ants,  and 
small  spiders,  are  all  freely  partaken  of.  A  friend  who  is 
a  very  careful  observer  assures  me  that  of  the  two  insects, 
house-flies  and  Croton-bugs,  his  lizards  certainly  preferred 
the  latter,  but  were  not  particularly  expert  in  capturing 
them.  And  now,  assuming  that  the  eye-sight  of  these 
little  reptiles  is  not  highly  developed,  what  of  the  curious 
"  pineal  eye  "  which  they  possess  ?  Prof.  Macloskie  has 
recently  announced  in  "  Science  "  that  it  "  is  so  well  devel- 
oped .  .  .  that  it  may  probably  seem  to  warn  its  owner  of 
the  advent  of  daylight.  It  is  a  lenticular,  glassy  area  of 
the  skin  of  the  vertex  (about  a  millimetre  in  sagittal  di- 
ameter), surrounded  by  a  yellow  border,  and  having  a  dark 
spot  in  its  center.  The  dark  spot  is  opaque,  caused  by  a 
mass  of  pigment  internal  to  the  dermis,  set  on  the  extrem- 
ity of  a  pineal  outgrowth  from  the  brain.  The  clear  area 
around  it  is  caused  by  the  dermis,  which  is  transparent 
and  free  from  the  pigment  which  covers  it  internally  in 
other  parts.  The  eye  is  covered  by  an  escutcheon  shaped 
epidermal  shield,  more  transparent  in  the  center  and 
larger  (three  by  three  millimetres)  than  the  normal  epider- 


AUGUST.  205 

mal  scales.  The  only  sign  of  degeneracy  is  the  central 
cloudy  mass  of  pigment,  like  a  big  cataract." 

I  was  naturally  desirous  of  determining  for  myself 
how  far  it  was  sensitive  to  light,  but  found  the  investiga- 
tion beset  with  difficulties.  Chloroformed  lizards  that 
were  deprived  of  their  eyes,  although  the  amputation  was 
dexterously  performed,  did  not  revive  sufficiently  to  make 
their  subsequent  movements  suggestive;  or  did  sympa- 
thetic ophthalmia  set  in  and  affect  the  pineal  eye  ? 

I  subsequently  hit  upon  a  plan,  using  very  thin  India- 
rubber  cloth,  by  which  the  eyes  proper  were  effectually 
closed,  and  the  "  eye  "  of  the  vertex  left  free.  The  lizards 
thus  provided  with  a  blinding  head-gear  were  separated 
from  their  fellows  and  placed  in  a  roomy  inclosure,  made 
up  of  several  almost  dark  and  very  light  alternate  sec- 
tions, the  temperature  being  even  throughout  the  lizards' 
range.  The  arrangement  was,  perhaps,  too  artificial  for  a 
satisfactory  series  of  observations,  but  it  became  evident 
at  once  that  the  lizards  recognized  the  difference  between 
the  dark  and  light  areas,  and  their  prompt  return  to 
the  latter  when  removed  from  them,  and  again  their  ac- 
tions when  they  returned,  all  showed  the  appreciation  of 
a  difference,  which  I  -know  was  not  one  of  temperature, 
but  beyond  this  I  could  determine  nothing ;  but  I  recalled, 
at  this  juncture,  the  significant .  fact  that  in  the  woods 
about  May's  Landing  I  noticed  many  lizards  buried  in  the 
fine  sand  and  leaf-mold,  their  eyes  closed  and  covered, 
but  the  top  of  the  head  and  a  portion  of  the  back  for  its 
whole  length  exposed.  The  same  was  subsequently  noted 
as  a  position  frequently  assumed  by  the  lizards  in  my 
Wardian  cases.  If,  therefore,  the  "  pineal  eye  "  is  sensi- 
tive to  light,  it  is  still  of  some  use  to  the  creature,  as  it 
would  certainly  respond  to  a  passing  shadow,  and  so  warn 
the  animal  of  the  approach  of  a  possible  enemy.  It  cer- 
tainly would  be  greatly  to  the  lizard's  advantage  if  it  had 


206  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

a  perfect  eye  in  the  top  of  its  head,  especially  when  it 
rests  upon  the  trunks  of  trees,  and  is  exposed  to  the  attacks 
of  predatory  birds ;  but  the  "  pineal  eye  "  is  at  most  but 
a  remote  approach  to  this.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was 
found  that  whenever  I  converged  the  rays  of  light  with  a 
burning-glass,  always  so  suddenly  that  no  thermal  effect 
was  produced,  there  was  caused  a  movement  of  uneasiness, 
a  flinching,  on  the  part  of  the  lizard  that  was  extremely 
suggestive. 

The  most  superficial  examination  of  the  external  ear 
of  the  pine-tree  lizard  will  at  once  lead  one  to  infer  that 
the  animal's  hearing  is  acute;  and  this  is  true.  When 
watching  the  lizards  on  the  trestle  over  Babcock's  Creek, 
at  May's  Landing,  I  was  forcibly  struck  with  this  fact. 
Such  of  them  as  were  basking  on  the  timbers  of  the 
bridge  were  not  disturbed  when  I  approached  them  with 
moderate  care,  stepping  only  on  the  cross-ties,  or  between 
them ;  but  if  I  struck  the  rails  with  my  cane  they  instantly 
took  notice  of  it  and  assumed  a  listening  attitude.  I  sub- 
sequently experimented  upon  this  point,  and  found  that 
when  my  companion  struck  the  rails  a  smart  blow,  even 
at  a  distance  of  fifty  yards,  the  lizards  were  aware  of  the 
peculiar  sound,  and  acted  accordingly,  even  darting  out 
of  sight  with  that  swiftness  that  characterizes  their  first 
few  steps.  I  have  recently  learned  from  a  correspondent 
that  his  observations  lead  him  to  conclude  that  the  sense 
of  hearing  is  not  very  acute,  but  the  character  of  his  ex- 
periments to  demonstrate  this  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be 
such  as  should  carry  conviction  with  it,  and  I  find  it  is 
contrary  to  the  general  impression  of  those  more  or  less 
familiar  with  this  lizard. 

It  is  a  most  interesting  fact,  although  so  very  wild 
when  first  met  with,  that  once  captured,  the  pine-tree 
lizards  instantly  become  tame.  Indeed,  I  have  had  them 
lie  quietly  upon  my  hand,  while  walking  in  the  woods, 


AUGUST.  207 

and  make  no  effort  to  escape.  There  is  a  bare  possibility 
that  the  efforts  on  their  part  to  escape,  and  fear,  when 
finally  captured,  may  produce  a  hypnotic  condition,  or 
something  like  it,  but  this  would  pass  by  and  leave  them 
wild.  This,  I  think,  never  occurs.  Once  in  my  hand,  I 
have  never  known  a  pine-tree  lizard  to  be  otherwise  than 
perfectly  tame.  But,  in  a  large  series  in  confinement,  I 
found  that  the  sense  of  hearing  was  constantly  brought 
into  play,  as  shown  by  their  ludicrous  actions  when  flies, 
shut  in  a  thin  paper  box,  were  placed  near  them.  They 
not  only  heard  but  recognized  the  noise — a  very  impor- 
tant matter,  bearing  as  it  does  upon  their  intelligence. 
Indeed,  in  the  woods  about  May's  Landing  I  found  that 
the  lizards  were  perfectly  familiar  with  many  sudden 
sounds  and  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  them.  Some  of 
these  were  the  sonorous  croak  of  the  bull-frog,  the  quick 
scream  of  the  blue  jay,  the  rattle  of  the  golden-winged 
woodpecker,  and  the  coarse  cry  of  the  great-crested  fly- 
catcher. These  were  all  unheeded,  while  my  own  cough- 
ing, the  whistling  of  a  single  note,  or  the  loud  utterance 
of  a  word,  caused  them  either  to  assume  a  make-ready 
attitude  or  to  dart  away.  On  the  other  hand,  have  these 
lizards  any  voice  ?  Their  actions  inter  se  are  strongly 
suggestive  of  the  affirmative,  but,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to 
determine,  their  utterances  are  confined  to  hissing,  and 
this  I  only  heard  when  I  provoked  the  creatures  by  the 
sudden  infliction  of  severe  pain.  Among  a  large  number, 
in  nine  weeks  I  never  heard  a  voluntary  hiss.  This,  how- 
ever, is  wholly  negative  evidence,  and  I  am  disposed  to 
believe  that  an  animal  possesses  a  voice,  if  its  habits,  in 
their  entirety,  suggest  that  it  has  one.  This  perhaps  un- 
scientific method  of  reasoning  arises,  on  my  part,  from 
the  fact  of  having  long  suspected  that  certain  fishes  and 
salamanders  had  voices,  before  they  were  detected — my 
suspicions  being  based  upon  the  habits,  as  a  whole,  of 


208  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

these  creatures.  Certain  snakes,  too,  that  are  now  thought 
only  to  hiss,  will,  I  believe,  be  found  to  have  a  limited 
range  of  scarcely  audible  utterances — so  with  the  pine-tree 
lizards.  I  certainly  have  no  reason  to  believe  they  talk, 
but  possibly  they  may  whisper  in  each  other's  ears. 

Upon  several  occasions  I  sat,  unseen  by  them,  for  a 
long  time,  very  near  my  pen  of  lizards,  and  listened 
attentively,  hoping  to  catch  some  sound  that  was  clearly 
a  voluntary  utterance  of  a  lizard.  I  only  determined  that 
one's  ears,  under  such  circumstances,  become  highly  super- 
sensitive,  and  a  great  deal  is  heard  at  a  time  when,  in 
fact,  positive  silence  prevails.  Generally,  the  lizards  were 
perfectly  quiet,  but  at  times  one  would  move,  and  then  a 
general  scuffling  ensued;  but  how  far  the  noises  were 
attributable  to  their  activity  I  can  not  say ;  probably  en- 
tirely so.  The  faint,  snake-like  hiss,  that  has  fairly  to  be 
squeezed  out  of  them,  is  the  range  of  their  vocal  utter- 
ances, so  far  as  I  yet  know. 

Concerning  the  breeding  habits  of  this  creature,  I  had 
no  positive  knowledge  prior  to  my  visit  to  the  pine-barren 
regions  of  southern  New  Jersey.  I  had  heard  the  state- 
ment made  that  the  eggs  were  small,  quite  numerous, 
and  deposited  on  the  under  side  of  prostrate  logs,  and 
even  in  loose  wood-piles  that  were  constantly  disturbed, 
and  that  the  eggs  were  not  concealed  or  protected  in  any 
way.  All  this  I  knew  to  be  false ;  but  where  were  the 
eggs  of  the  pine-tree  lizard  placed  ?  Questioning  observ- 
ing residents  of  localities  where  the  species  abounded,  I 
was  invariably  informed  that  the  eggs  were  laid  in  sand, 
in  pits  dug  by  the  lizards,  and  carefully  covered  up.  They 
were  only  discovered  by  accident,  no  trace  of  their  pres- 
ence being  noticeable.  Further,  that  after  heavy  showers 
the  eggs  were  sometimes  exposed,  and  in  this  way  a  check 
was  put  upon  the  increase  of  the  animal's  numbers.  Of 
course,  solar  heat  alone  was  relied  upon  to  mature  the 


AUGUST.  209 

eggs.  Kecently,  a  resident  of  May's  Landing  has  informed 
me  that  the  eggs  "  are  said  to  be  laid  in  bunches,"  but 
just  what  is  meant  by  being  "  bunched  "  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
understand.  They  certainly  are  not  attached  to  each 
other  by  any  agglutinating  substance.  At  least,  the  fe- 
male lizards  in  my  pens  laid  only  dry,  free  eggs,  which 
they  deposited  in  conical  pits,  one  egg,  the  lowermost, 
being  in  the  bottom,  then  three  above  it,  and  four  in  the 
third  tier.  Such  was  the  position  in  two  sets  of  eggs, 
while  the  others  were  scattered  over  the  sand  in  bewilder- 
ing confusion.  None  of  these  hatched,  the  failure  to  do 
so,  inasmuch  as  they  were  fertile,  being  due,  I  believe,  to 
the  surroundings  being  too  dry.  Probably  a  certain 
amount  of  decaying  vegetable  matter  is  mingled  with  the 
sand  when  the  eggs  are  laid,  and  thus  a  moist  heat  is  pro- 
duced, which  is  as  necessary  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  the  eggs 
of  the  alligators  and  crocodiles. 

The  ova  laid  by  my  penned  lizards  were  long,  narrow, 
covered  with  a  tough  skin,  free  from  calcareous  matter, 
and  varied  in  weight  from  twenty  to  twenty-four  grains. 
At  May's  Landing,  I  am  told,  the  eggs  are  usually  laid 
about  June  1st,  and  hatch  about  July  10th. 

While  the  abandonment  of  their  eggs  in  this  appar- 
ently heartless  manner  leads  to  the  supposition  that  they 
are  indifferent  to  their  offsprings'  welfare,  which  is  true, 
it  is  somewhat  interesting  to  notice  how  very  tolerant  they 
are  of  the  petty  annoyances  to  which  their  own  or  anoth- 
er's young  subject  them.  My  observations  on  this  point 
were  made  from  a  number  of  young  and  old  confined  in  a 
roomy  Wardian  case,  but  probably  what  I  there  saw  holds 
good  among  the  lizards  in  their  native  haunts.  I  am  sure 
it  did  among  the  many  living  on  the  old  trestle  at  May's 
Landing.  Often  a  little  lizard,  and  sometimes  two,  would 
perch  upon  the  head  and  back  of  an  adult,  and  there  be 
allowed  to  sit  for  fully  an  hour.  The  sharp  claws  of  these 

14 


210  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

youngsters  seemed  at  times  dangerously  near  the  eyes  and 
ears  of  the  patient  old  one,  but  it  offered  no  resistance, 
and,  when  I  forced  such  burdened  lizards  to  move,  it  was 
always  with  a  deliberateness  that  suggested  that  they  were 
really  averse  to  disturbing  those  resting  upon  them. 
Again,  adults  would  often  rest  upon  each  other,  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  most  uncomfortable  manner  for  the  one 
beneath,  often  pressing  the  head  of  the  latter  into  the 
sand  and  completely  blinding  it  for  the  time  ;  yet  I  never 
saw  the  slightest  evidence  of  ill-humor,  not  even  when 
they  were  being  fed.  Often  it  happened  that  some  sleepy 
fellow  would  quietly  snap  up  the  fly  toward  which  another 
lizard  was  cautiously  crawling,  yet  no  fight  ensued.  Any- 
thing more  trying  than  this  to  humanity  can  not  be  ima- 
gined, yet  the  lizards  took  every  such  occurrence  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course. 

In  running,  as  well  as  when  walking  about  deliberately, 
which  they  less  often  do,  the  lizard  brings  all  four  limbs 
equally  into  play,  and  their  gait  is  much  like  that  of  a  cat. 
When  progress  is  suddenly  -arrested,  they  usually  squat 
upon  their  hind  limbs  only,  holding  their  head  well  up 
and  elevating  the  body,  as  does  a  cat  or  dog,  by  keeping 
the  fore  limbs  straight.  Every  attitude  is  suggestive  of 
intelligence,  and  I  refer  particularly  to  the  matter,  because 
the  differences  in  these  respects  between  this  lizard  and 
the  blue-tailed  skink,  the  only  other  saurian  found  in  New 
Jersey,  is  very  marked ;  the  latter,  as  we  shall  see,  al- 
though having  less  suggestive  manners,  has,  I  believe,  a 
greater  degree  of  intelligence. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  rapid  and  complete  submission  of 
the  pine-tree  lizard  when  captured.  This  did  not  prove 
true  of  the  great  brown  skink  that  I  captured  among  the 
rocks  at  Lake  Hopatcong.  This  specimen  I  placed  in  a 
Wardian  case,  May  20th,  and  immediately  it  burrowed  in 
the  thick  mat  of  sphagnum  at  the  bottom,  and  for  a  week 


AUGUST.  <2H 

seldom  if  ever  made  its  appearance.  I  could  only  deter- 
mine that  it  was  alive  by  searching  for  it,  and  invariably 
was  bitten.  It  then  showed  a  disposition  to  come  from 
its  intersphagnian  retreat,  but  remained  wholly  suspicious 
of  every  sound  or  object  that  approached.  Concealing 
myself,  I  watched  it  carefully,  and  found  that  the  shutting 
of  a  door,  the  crowing  of  a  cock  near  the  window,  and 
loud  conversation  in  an  adjoining  room,  always  fright- 
ened it;  while  the  singing  of  a  canary,  and  of  robins  in  a 
tree  near  by,  were  not  noticed.  A  quickly  passing  shadow 
was  particularly  feared.  Did  it  associate  this  with  the 
birds  of  prey  that  are  the  skink's  most  dangerous  ene- 
mies? Having  disappeared,  it  never  returned  by  the 
same  burrow,  but,  cautiously  peeping  from  a  hole  in  an 
opposite  corner  of  the  case,  studied  the  outlook  for  a  long 
time  before  reappearing.  It  showed  no  disposition  to  be 
sociable  until  June  10th,  when  it  seemed  suddenly  to  gain 
confidence,  but  only  to  a  slight  degree.  June  19th  it  ate 
for  the  first  time,  and  then  became  somewhat  tamer,  but 
still  was  essentially  wild,  and  seemed  perhaps  the  more  so 
because  of  the  contrast  with  the  pair  of  lizards  that  were 
all  the  while  its  companions.  July  29th  it  was  transferred 
to  a  roomy  fernery  belonging  to  a  friend,  where  it  found 
a  close  resemblance  to  its  lake-side  home  in  all  essential 
features,  and  immediately  it  became  more  active ;  and 
now,  three  months  after  capture,  has  become  compara- 
tively tame. 

The  skink,  as  we  have  seen,  is  exceedingly  shy,  irritable, 
and  resents  the  slightest  interference  by  biting  savagely, 
but  of  course  is  entirely  harmless.  Nearly  every  promi- 
nent feature  of  the  lizard  is  represented  by  an  opposite 
trait  in  the  skink.  What  appeared  to  be  evidence  of  more 
sluggish  wits  than  the  former  possesses,  is  the  fact  that  it 
did  not  learn  to  associate  my  presence  with  a  supply  of 
food,  as  was  true  of  the  others,  but  the  truth  is  it  was  its 


212  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

greater  fear  of  man  that  held  it  back,  and  not  really  a 
want  of  cunning. 

In  many  respects  the  skink  recalls  the  snakes,  and  its 
manner  of  crawling,  often  without  making  any  use  of  the 
posterior  limbs,  and  generally  keeping  the  body  greatly 
bent,  adds  to  the  resemblance ;  and  so,  despite  its  shyness 
and  courage  when  captured,  evidences  of  intellectual 
strength,  the  skink  seems  lower  in  the  scale  of  intelligence 
than  the  pine-tree  lizard,  but  is  probably  its  superior. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SEPTEMBER. 

THE  Delaware  Indians  called  September  Kitschitacli- 
quoach  gischuch  !  and  this  is  said  by  Heekewalder  to  sig- 
nify "  the  autumn  month."  This  is  next  to  meaningless, 
and  I  suggest  as  nearer  the  Indians'  meaning,  and  cer- 
tainly more  appropriate,  the  Moon  of  the  First  Frost.  I 
doubt  if  ever  the  month  passes  without  some  trace  of  it, 
and  until  it  comes,  the  month  differs  nothing  from  the 
one  preceding.  Every  rambler  has  noticed  how  song 
gives  place  to  silence  toward  the  end  of  August.  The 
monotony  of  soulless  sunshine  has  proved  irksome,  and 
the  birds  that  have  not  already  departed  cluster  by  the 
dripping  springs.  The  squirrels,  until  now  a  timid  and 
day-shunning  folk,  thread  the  tall,  out-reaching  oaks, 
tapping,  in  ill-humor,  at  the  still  resisting  acorns.  Im- 
patience is  now  the  moving  factor  of  the  animal  world, 
and  with  it  is  sulky  silence.  Furred  and  feathered  life, 
alike,  are  heartily  tired  of  summer  and  await  a  change — 
do  they  know  what  ?  He  who  is  given  to  country  rambles 
has  long  since  learned  the  secret — it  is  the  first  frost. 

The  first  frost  does  not  usher  in  a  new  season,  but  re- 
news the  summer.  Sleepy,  silent  August  days,  half  stifled 
in  a  worn-out  atmosphere,  are  the  really  melancholy  ones, 
"  the  saddest  of  the  year  " ;  but  at  once,  with  the  first 
frost,  is  activity  renewed.  This  earliest  intimation  of  the 
on-coming  winter  need  not  be  everywhere.  You  will  find 


214  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

no  trace  of  it  upon  the  upland  fields.  There  are,  in  low- 
lying,  damp,  weed-hidden  nooks,  a  few  dainty  crystals, 
that  disappear  before  the  sun  rises,  as  though  frightened 
at  what  they  have  done.  They  might  well  have  tarried, 
for  they  deserve  a  blessing. 

What  then  does  this  first  frost  accomplish?  The 
pulses  of  the  song-birds  quicken,  and  they  resume  their 
singing.  Their  limp  wings  are  braced,  and  they  scatter 
over  the  fields,  along  the  wooded  hill-side  and  close-woven 
thicket.  Not  only  they,  the  wearied  summer  visitors,  re- 
appear among  their  several  spring-time  haunts,  but  down 
from  a  frostier  north,  the  advance  guard  of  the  winter 
songsters  come — Canadian  tree-sparrows,  a  cheery,  twitter- 
ing host — come,  as  do  many  others,  to  make  glad  our 
winters  and  replace  those  that,  fearing  to  face  the  ruder 
blasts  of  the  north  wind,  seek  shelter  in  the  south.  It  is 
strange  that  the  idea  is  so  prevalent  that  here  in  New 
Jersey  we  have  comparatively  birdless  winters.  There  are 
two  score  species  that  are,  with  very  few  exceptions,  mod- 
erately abundant ;  many  are  phenomenally  so.  Even 
about  the  most  unpromising  spots,  a  dozen  or  fifteen 
species  of  winter  birds  may  readily  be  found.  Every  one 
of  the  forty  has  been  listed,  and  without  going  into  a 
wilderness  too,  by  more  than  one  observer.  The  fact  is, 
to  see  birds  at  this  season,  one  must  not  stick  closely  to  the 
highways,  but  pass  from  field  to  meadow,  from  woodland 
to  marsh,  to  do  so.  Forty  species  may  seem  an  extrava- 
gant claim,  but  it  is  a  simple  statement  of  fact.  There 
are  at  least  forty.  Why  call  it  thirty-nine  ?  It  has  been 
flatly  contradicted.  Well,  there  is  an  element  of  our 
population  that,  having  ears  and  eyes,  yet  neither  hear 
nor  see,  and  these  are  they  who,  lacking  powers  of  obser- 
vation, are  prone  to  criticism.  It  is  a  good  plan  to  listen 
to  the  nut-hatch,  while  these  critics  carp,  for  the  bur- 
den of  that  bird's  song  is  crank-crank !  crank-crank! 


SEPTEMBER.  215 

It  boldly  sings  what  politeness  forbids  us  even  to  whis- 
per. 

The  first  frost  has  come ;  dare  autumn  leaves  be  men- 
tioned ?  I  have  seen  a  striking  picture  of  an  irate  editor 
flooring  the  twentieth  spring  poet  that  had  that  day  called 
upon  him.  Should  I  not  take  warning?  At  least,  I 
should  not  venture  far.  Whether  or  not  the  frost  act- 
ually ripens  the  leaves,  it  can  not  be  gainsaid  that  the 
change  of  color  begins  at  this  time  or  earlier ;  but  often, 
excepting  one  or  two  trees,  a  year  passes  with  no  change 
save  somber  brown.  Always,  however,  there  are  tiny  areas 
of  the  brightest  tints,  a  change  more  beautiful  than  the 
general  reddening  of  the  forest.  A  branch  of  a  maple 
turned  to  dusty  gold,  a  solitary  gum  tree  clothed  in  scar- 
let, a  winding  creeper  bronzed  to  the  very  tips — such  bits 
as  these,  rare  as  gems  along  the  pebbly  shore,  are  com- 
monly held  to  be  the  fruits  of  the  first  frost,  and  loved 
the  more  because  of  their  rarity. 

Those  faithful  friends  of  the  poets,  asters  and  golden- 
rods,  convenient  blooms  that  have  done  duty  in  literature 
for  a  solid  century,  flourish,  it  is  true,  before  the  coming 
of  the  frost,  but  renew  their  youth  in  the  reinvigorated 
air.  It  is  not  they  alone,  however,  that  brighten  the  dusty 
highways  and  deck  the  winding  wood-lanes ;  at  least,  not 
here.  The  dittany  empurples  the  leaf-strewed  forest ;  with 
mosses  and  sweet  fern,  it  carpets  the  upland  woods ;  and 
then,  with  the  first  frost,  comes  the  chincapin — a  pygmy, 
but  still  a  very  prince  among  our  nuts,  graciously  evolved 
for  impatient  autumn-lovers.  To  gather  them  is  only  a 
foretaste  of  the  nutting  season  proper,  it  is  true,  but  a 
foretaste  often  with  a  keener  flavor  than  the  feast  that 
follows  offers.  Chincapins  are  the  last  gift  of  summer — a 
gift  that  comes  with  gladness  ;  solid  nuggets  of  sunshine 
— not  wrapped  in  dead  leaves  and  sodden  with  the  tears 
of  melancholy  November. 


216  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

What  of  the  cooler  meadows  and  the  lotus  ?  It  would 
dampen  my  ardor  certainly  if  it  were  cut  down ;  but  it  is 
not.  Hailing  as  it  does  from  far  warmer  lands,  we  trem- 
ble for  the  tardier  blossoms,  yet  really  need  not.  From 
afar  I  can  see  those  gigantic  leaves  and  tall  flower-stalks, 
capped  with  the  roseate  bloom  of  this  historic  plant.  It 
is  as  much  at  home  and  as  hardy  as  the  sweet  white  lily 
or  the  yellow  nuphar.  And  here,  in  the  flooded  marshes, 
we  can  go  nutting  again.  From  the  great  funnel-shaped 
torus  or  seed-pod  of  the  lotus,  one  can  gather  sweet 
fruit,  larger  and  as  toothsome  as  upland  chincapins.  In 
the  dense  shade  of  this  lotus  of  Eastern  lands,  I  recall 
that  rare  native  form,  once  cultivated  here  by  the  Indians. 
Perhaps  I  am  wrong  here.  My  friend  the  State  botanist 
tells  me  it  is  far  more  probable  that  the  widely  separated 
localities  where  the  native  lotus  still  flourishes  are  rem- 
nants of  a  wide  area  over  which,  long,  long  ago — perhaps 
before  the  great  ice  age — the  plant  flourished  as  now  do 
our  native  lilies,  splatter-docks,  and  calamus.  If,  then,  it 
was  not  a  cultivated  but  a  wild  plant,  it  was  still  highly 
prized  by  the  Indians.  There  are  abundant  historical 
references  to  this  effect.  Eecalling  these  to-day,  I  can 
picture  a  group  of  Indian  women  in  canoes,  or  perhaps 
their  vagabond  husbands  wading  in  the  water,  gathering 
the  large  seed — a  true  nut — or  reaching  into  the  shallow 
depths  for  the  newer  growth  of  tubers.  From  the  nut 
was  made  a  good  flour ;  the  tubers,  boiled,  are  equal  to 
potatoes.  The  Indians  did  this  far  back  in  prehistoric 
times ;  some  of  their  descendants  do  so  still ;  and  it  would 
not  be  strange,  could  it  be  shown,  that  where  I  to-day 
gather  lotus  nuts  in  the  same  marsh,  the  long-forgotten 
Indians,  in  centuries  past,  did  the  same.  Be  this  as  it 
may  be,  nutting  in  the  marshes  is  one  of  the  luxuries 
following  a  first  frost — for  the  nonce,  I  am  a  happy  lotus- 
eater. 


SEPTEMBER.  217 

In  the  woods  and  over  the  meadows  alike,  the  air 
trembles  with  the  cry  of  innumerable  crickets — if  not 
they,  then  of  insects  unknown  to  me.  Single  shrill 
trumpeters  are  hard  to  find.  Trace  up  never  so  closely 
the  sound  that  issues  from  a  certain  bush,  when  at  a  given 
distance  the  noise  ceases.  You  rest  a  while,  and  it  begins 
again ;  you  move,  it  stops ;  one  step  more,  and  it  ceases 
altogether.  Scan  with  all  care  every  leaf,  twig,  main 
stem,  and  very  roots  of  the  shrub,  if  such  it  was,  but  you 
will  not  find  the  musician.  To  crickets  we  attribute  all 
these  late  summer  sounds  not  made  by  birds  or  frogs,  but 
how  far  correctly  I  would  that  I  knew. 

It  was  long  after  the  first  hard  frost,  and  even  thin 
ice  had  formed  once  or  twice,  that  I  happened  along  the 
Crosswicks  meadow  with  a  friend,  and  our  talk  had  been 
of  insect  sounds.  There  was  a  thrill  in  the  air,  at  the 
time  ascribable  to  millions  of  insects,  but  not  a  single 
utterance  could  we  detect.  At  last,  upon  the  bank  of  a 
ditch,  a  shriller  stridulation  could  be  heard,  a  sound  that 
could  be  located.  Very  cautiously,  upon  hands  and 
knees,  my  friend  approached  the  spot.  For  minutes  there 
was  profound  silence,  and  then  the  sound  would  start  up 
more  distinctly  than  before.  With  all  the  caution  of  a 
well-trained  setter,  my  friend  drew  near,  and  at  last,  be- 
lieving he  had  marked  the  precise  spot,  he  sprang  forward 
and  seized  a  clod  of  meadow  mud.  He  had  stalked  his 
game  successfully.  In  his  hands  was  a  mole-cricket.  So 
I  learned  that  this  creature,  too,  is  an  autumn  as  well  as 
a  summer  songster. 

Not  the  first  frost  nor  the  second — no,  nor  a  black  frost 
— seals  to  silence  either  the  tree-toad  or  the  red  frog  of  the 
woods.  They  croak  spasmodically  at  all  times  and  sea- 
sons, but  give  no  hint  of  the  utterance's  proper  interpre- 
tation. It  may  be  a  croak  of  thanks  for  such  sweet,  life- 
giving  days,  or  a  complaint  that  the  chilly  nights  have 


218  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

lessened  their  food  supply.  If  there  is  any  distinction,  it 
is  an  all-hearing  ear  that  can  detect  it.  To  the  average 
rambler  they  croak,  and  nothing  more.  It  is  the  same 
note  now  that  is  heard  at  short  intervals  all  summer  long, 
and  that  they  utter  in  early  spring  when  they  join  in  a 
deafening  epithalamium. 

But  one  glory  of  the  time  of  early  frosts  has  well-nigh 
departed — but  fitfully,  at  best,  do  the  roostward  flying 
crows  pass  over.  No  more  are  seen  the  long  lines  that 
streaked  the  eastern  sky — a  scarcely  broken  procession, 
whose  front  reached  the  meadows  about  2  p.  M.,  and  the 
rear  rank  was  still  on  the  move  as  the  sun  went  down. 
This,  thirty  years  ago,  was  so  regular  a  feature  of  each 
autumn  and  winter  day  that  the  old  hall  clocks  of  the 
farmers  along  the  ridge  might  well  have  been  regulated 
by  it.  The  crow-roost  of  recent  years,  to  which  these  birds 
flocked  at  night,  was  in  Pennsylvania,  about  Rocky  Woods 
and  in  the  Pigeon  Swamp.  I  give  these  particulars  for  a 
purpose,  being  a  Jerseyman. 

In  the  "  American  Naturalist "  for  August,  1886,  Mr. 
Samuel  W.  Rhoades  has  published  an  interesting  article  on 
these  birds  and  their  habits,  but  at  the  very  outset  I  am 
puzzled  at  certain  of  his  statements.  He  writes :  "  Care- 
ful observation  and  inquiry  convince  me  that  during 
winter  a  radial  sweep  of  one  hundred  miles,  described 
from  the  city  of  Philadelphia  and  touching  the  cities  of 
New  York,  Harrisburg,  and  Baltimore,  will  include  in  the 
day-time,  in  its  western  semicircle,  fully  two  thirds  of  the 
crows  inhabiting  North  America,  and  at  night  an  equal 
proportion  of  its  eastern  half.  The  eastern  area  of  this 
circle,  with  the  exception  of  more  fertile  portions  of  west 
and  north  Jersey,  is  as  notably  devoid  of  them  by  day  as 
it  is  infested  by  them  at  night.  Their  most  extensive 
breeding  grounds  in  New  Jersey  are  well-nigh  deserted 
during  severe  weather. 


SEPTEMBER.  219 

"  The  popular  local  notion  that  crows  all '  go  to  Jersey 
to  roost '  and  return  to  Pennsylvania  to  forage,  while  far 
from  correct,  has  more  truth  in  it  than  the  average  Jer- 
seyman  will  admit,"  and  I  add,  the  average  Jerseyman  is 
correct  in  denying  it.  For  over  a  century,  the  crows  have 
roosted  on  the  Pennsylvania  side  of  the  river,  as  all  can 
see  for  themselves  of  an  autumn  afternoon,  and  if  these 
same  people  will  be  astir  at  dawn,  they  can  see  the  same 
crows  coming  back  to  Jersey,  where  they  will  forage  until 
noon.  Fools  if  they  didn't !  There  is  a  wonderful  differ- 
ence between  the  two  sides  of  the  river  in  the  matter  of 
temperature,  and  so  follows  a  difference  in  plant  and  ani- 
mal life.  Many  a  day  the  winter  through,  when  a  crow 
would  starve  in  Pennsylvania,  amid  snow  and  ice,  the 
ground  would  be  not  only  bare  but  unfrozen  in  Jersey. 
How  the  impression  got  abroad,  and  became  so  general, 
that  all  Jersey  was  a  crow-roost  and  never  a  bird  flew 
westward  during  the  afternoon,  I  can  not  learn,  but  it 
does  not  hold  good  in  the  writer's  region. 

Mr.  Ehoades  says :  "  As  yet  no  evidence  is  at  hand  to 
justify  the  supposition  that  the  roosting-place  which  Wil- 
son and  Godman  have  vaguely  described  as  situated  '  near 
Bristol '  was  in  Pennsylvania.  It  seems  more  probable  that 
it  was  located  either  on  Burlington  Island  or  on  the  main- 
land near  the  site  of  the  city  of  Burlington,  in  New  Jersey." 

There  is  evidence,  though,  for  the  spot  has  been  but 
recently  disturbed,  and  I  live  on  a  line  with  the  main 
flight  that,  so  long  as  I  can  remember,  crossed  over  the 
river  and  continued  westward  into  Pennsylvania  for  some 
three  miles.  Both  this  and  the  Florence  Heights  roosts 
were  occupied  at  about  the  same  time ;  and  if,  as  stated, 
the  latter  was  deserted  forty-five  years  ago,  it  was  again 
reoccupied  by  a  small  colony — an  off-shoot  possibly  of  the 
overcrowded  one  in  Pennsylvania,  four  or  five  miles  west 
of  it. 


220  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

I  doubt  if  ever  the  crows  were  given  to  keeping  within 
such  hard  and  fast  lines  as  has  been  suggested.  At  all 
events,  if  it  is  applicable  to  the  sandy  pine  barrens  of  south 
Jersey  to  say  the  crows  only  roost  there,  it  is  not  true  of 
central  Jersey,  at  and  about  the  head  of  tide  water  in  the 
Delaware  Valley.  I  think  I  have  positive  evidence  that 
Wilson  was  right  in  speaking  of  a  crow-roost  near  Bristol, 
Pennsylvania ;  and  I  have  personal  knowledge  of  the  oc- 
cupancy of  such  a  one  for  many  years — one  that  is  yet 
occupied,  but  only  by  a  tithe  of  the  former  numbers  that 
frequented  it.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  a  great  change  in 
the  birds'  habits  is  being  brought  about.  They  appear 
to  be  decreasing  in  numbers,  and  probably  their  cunning  is 
leading  them  to  the  safer  method  of  scattering  over  wider 
areas  to  roost. 

In  spite  of  all  the  ugly  things  I  have  heard  of  crows — 
not  one  in  a  hundred  of  them  really  true — I  early  learned 
to  love  the  bird,  and  their  full-toned  autumn  cries  are  mu- 
sic to  my  ears.  It  is  ever  with  regret  I  hear  of  woodland 
tracts  laid  bare,  and  the  poor  birds'  roosting-trees  de- 
stroyed. More  and  more  the  crows  are  scattered  autumn 
after  autumn,  and  so  the  close  of  summer  loses  one  consid- 
erable charm.  It  is  painful  to  think  that  even  the  scanty 
remnants  of  our  forests  may  soon  disappear — that  the 
black  frost  of  greed  may  ere  long  irreparably  blight  the 
country. 

After  a  pleasant  ride  over  the  rolling  hills  and  across 
many  a  pretty  intervale,  I  found  myself,  recently,  in  a 
commodious  tent,  erected  in  anticipation  of  my  coming, 
and  from  this,  my  present  comfortable  quarters,  I  have 
given  myself  to  strolling  wheresoever  my  fancy  led  me,  for 
I  have  been  spending  in  camp  nearly  the  whole  month  of 
September.  Searching  for  nothing  in  particular,  I  was 
eager  to  light  upon  every  novelty  of  which  this  favored 


SEPTEMBER.  221 

region,  the  valley  of  Brush  Creek,  in  Adams  County,  Ohio, 
might  boast.  And  my  last  ramble  was  one  of  greatest  in- 
terest. Passing  over  a  monotonous  stretch  of  bottom  land, 
now  a  forest  of  ripening  corn,  I  came  suddenly  upon  the 
babbling  creek  that  scarcely  concealed  the  time-worn  peb- 
bles of  its  narrow  bed.  On  either  side  tower  gigantic  syc- 
amores and  grand  old  elms,  a  wealth  of  autumn  flowers 
clustering  about  their  trunks.  For  a  narrow  space,  nature 
had  outwitted  the  grasping  farmer,  and  wildness  reigned 
supreme. 

Whatever  might  be  in  store,  I  could  not  pass  hurriedly 
by  the  creek  that  I  had  found.  I  tarried  long,  lulled  by 
the  music  of  its  rippling  waters  that,  singing  the  same  sweet 
song,  cheers  many  an  idle  hour  at  home.  Nor  was  I  alone. 
Strange,  indeed,  if  ever  so  sweet  a  spot  should  be  deserted. 
As  I  strolled  slowly  down  the  stream,  a  lone  wood-duck 
from  a  grassy  cove  sped  like  an  arrow  into  leafy  depths. 
Quails  called  to  their  mates,  vireos  warbled,  the  titmice 
gave  warning,  and  cardinal  redbirds  flashed  through  the 
thickets,  whistling  as  they  went.  My  shadow  startled 
many  a  timid  fish — wee  minnows  that  I  wonder  should 
have  any  fear ;  and  anxious  crayfish,  from  the  mud-lined 
dens,  hastened  to  muddier  and  to  deeper  caves.  My  pres- 
ence was  a  source  of  trouble  to  all  the  life  about  me,  and 
thought  of  this  alone  was  the  shadow,  sure  to  be,  that 
dimmed  my  joy.  Wild  life  seldom  stops  to  argue  the 
question  whether  you  are  friend  or  foe,  but  forms  its 
own  conclusions  when  at  a  safe  distance. 

But  the  day  was  fast  closing,  and  I  had  yet  other  fields 
to  explore.  Threading  a  tangle  of  rich  autumn  bloom,  I 
was  stopped  by  a  crumbling  wall  of  jutting  rock,  deeply 
scarred  and  caverned  by  corroding  time.  A  hundred  feet 
in  height,  or  more,  it  frowned  in  the  glittering  light  of 
the  setting  sun  and  denied  my  further  progress. 

I  was  in  no  humor  to  be  denied.     The  valley  soon 


222  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

would  be  shut  in  by  mist,  and  I  was  all  anxious  to  escape 
the  pent  creek's  gathering  damp.  I  walked  boldly  to  the 
cliff  and  seized  whatever  projection  offered.  The  pleasure 
of  the  stroll  had  vanished.  Progress  now  meant  toil,  if 
not  danger.  Every  promising  cranny  seemed  to  shrink  as 
I  placed  my  hand  within  it ;  every  jutting  corner  trembled 
as  I  placed  my  foot  upon  it.  The  rock  that  at  first  was 
perpendicular  was  now  overhanging,  and  at  every  incli 
that  I  progressed  the  valley  receded  a  foot.  To  scramble 
over  gravel  bluffs  at  home  proved  a  poor  schooling  now. 
Every  tree  was  just  beyond  my  reach,  and  the  half-way 
ledges,  promising  a  refuge  and  rest,  were  but  snares,  need- 
ing little  more  than  a  hand's  weight  to  send  them  thun- 
dering to  the  creek  below.  I  am  yet  alive,  and  why  recall 
a  perilous  and  painful  past  ?  The  summit  was  reached — 
no  matter  how — and  in  due  time  I  stood  upon  a  broad 
plateau,  overlooking  miles  of  wooded  valleys  and  beyond 
the  reach  of  those  threatening  rocks,  which,  in  future,  I 
shall  contemplate,  and  leave  to  others  to  explore.  But  if 
not  directly  upon  rock,  I  stood  upon  firm  earth.  Save  a 
solitary  maple,  that  for  years  has  stood  the  lone  spot's  si- 
lent sentinel,  no  trees  sheltered  it  from  storm  or  sunshine ; 
and  here,  on  this  bleak,  unprotected  bluff,  Art,  not  Na- 
ture, held  the  upper  hand.  The  transition  was  indeed 
startling. 

If  it  taxes  the  equanimity  of  the  average  person  to 
come  suddenly  upon  even  a  harmless  snake,  what  shall  be 
said  of  him  who,  with  head  and  shoulders  at  last  exulting- 
ly  raised  above  a  beetling  cliff,  finds  himself  confronted  by 
a  serpent  more  than  a  thousand  feet  in  length,  and  witli  its 
huge  jaws  widely  agape  ?  Yet  this  is  the  fortune  of  him 
who  clambered,  at  one  point,  from  the  Brush  Creek  Valley 
to  the  high  ground  above.  But  I  speak  enigmatically. 
The  serpent  is  not  and  has  never  been  alive.  It  is  not 
even,  as  the  reader  may  have  guessed,  some  great  fossil  of 


SEPTEMBER. 

a  distant  geological  epoch.  It  is  the  Art  that  here  over- 
shadows every  natural  feature,  to  which  I  have  referred — 
the  handiwork  of  an  unknown  people,  who,  finding  this 
region  suited  to  their  needs,  wrested  it  from  Nature. 

The  great  Serpent  Mound  of  southern  Ohio  is  one  of 
those  curious  earth- works  that  for  nearly  half  a  century 
has  been  a  puzzle  and  delight  to  American  archaeologists, 
and  one  that  has  led  to  much  wild  speculation.  Much  of 
this  is  truly  funny,  and  none  of  it  more  absurd  than  the 
dogmatic  assertion  recently  given  to  the  world  that  it  is 
of  Cherokee  origin  and  of  no  significant  antiquity.  But 
before  discussing  its  age  and  origin,  let  us  consider  what 
it  is  as  it  appears  to  the  visitor  of  to-day.  At  first  glance, 
one  might  suppose  that  the  earth  had  merely  been  heaped 
up  into  a  long  and  gracefully  curved  line,  so  as  to  repre- 
sent an  uncoiling  serpent  or  a  snake  in  motion.  It  is 
more  than  this.  Before  its  construction,  the  place  was 
leveled,  and  the  serpent,  in  all  probability,  outlined  with 
stones  and  clay,  and  not  only  all  the  material  gathered  in 
clearing  the  ground,  but  more  was  brought  to  the  spot. 
In  short,  the  work  was  planned  before  its  construction  was 
commenced,  and  built  with  care.  Its  architect  was  at 
once  an  engineer,  a  naturalist,  and  an  artist ;  or,  if  the 
joint  product  of  a  community,  then  they  all  showed  skill 
in  high  departments  of  human  intelligence,  such  as  we 
look  for  in  vain  among  historic  Indians. 

When,  by  whom,  and  for  what  purpose,  then,  was  this 
Serpent  Mound  constructed  ?  These  are  the  three  ques- 
tions every  visitor  will  ask — does  ask,  at  this  writing — of 
the  eminent  archaeologist,  Prof.  F.  W.  Putnam,  who  is  now 
on  the  spot  endeavoring  to  solve  this  triple  problem.  I 
will  not,  at  this  time,  anticipate  any  of  his  conclusions,  but 
consider  some  of  the  suggestions  he  and  others  have  al- 
ready given  to  the  world. 

Concerning  the  antiquity  of  the  mound-builders  and 


224:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

their  works,  Prof.  M.  C.  Read,  with  apparent  good 
grounds  for  so  doing,  has  remarked  that  the  evidence  was 
well-nigh  conclusive  that  when  occupied  by  this  people 
and  these  works  erected,  the  site  and  the  surrounding 
country  was  a  treeless  region.  He  writes :  "  Their  erec- 
tion with  mound-builders'  tools,  if  it  involved  the  clearing 
of  a  forest  as  a  preliminary  work,  is  so  nearly  impossible 
that  we  can  not  imagine  it  would  be  ever  undertaken.  It 
involved  not  only  the  clearing  of  the  lands  of  the  forest, 
but  also  the  neighboring  lands  which  were  to  be  subjected 
to  tillage.  It  is  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  in  moist  and 
tropical  climates,  that  men  armed  with  the  best  of  steel 
tools  make  a  successful  battle  with  the  forests.  It  is  much 
more  reasonable  to  suppose  that  these  works  were  origi- 
nally located  in  a  treeless  region,  and  the  works  evidently 
of  the  same  age  scattered  over  (this  portion  of  Ohio)  indi- 
cate that  this  treeless  region  was  of  large  extent.  .  .  .  The 
inference  would  follow  that  the  abandonment  of  the  region 
marked  the  time  when  the  slow  intrusion  of  the  forests 
reduced  the  amount  of  tillable  land  below  the  necessities 
of  the  community.  "When  this  took  place  can  only  be 
vaguely  estimated,  but  that  it  was  many  hundreds  of  years 
ago  is  beyond  all  question.  It  required  many  centuries, 
as  has  been  frequently  proved,  for  a  mixed  forest  growth 
to  take  possession  of  a  country."  It  is  in  vain  to  attempt 
to  express  by  numbers  the  age  of  an  earth-work,  but  a 
scientific  examination  of  both  the  structure  and  its  sur- 
roundings may  demonstrate  a  relative  age  that  antedates 
all  history. 

This  has  already  been  accomplished,  so  far  as  the  Ser- 
pent Mound  is  concerned.  It  is  a  veritable  relic  of  re- 
mote antiquity. 

By  whom  was  the  Serpent  Mound  erected  ?  Here  we 
are  confronted  by  a  problem  that  probably  will  never  be 
solved  to  universal  satisfaction.  It  is  an  unfortunate  fact 


SEPTEMBER.  225 

that  the  great  subject  of  the  origin  of  races  is,  and  is 
likely  to  be,  in  a  miserably  chaotic  state.  The  craniolo- 
gist,  the  philologist,  and  archgeologist  agree  only  to  disa- 
gree ;  and  the  student  of  general  anthropology  can  not 
yet,  it  is  quite  certain,  blend  the  strong  arguments  of 
these  specialists,  and  reach  to  a  plausible  conclusion.  The 
stronger  the  argument  of  any  one  phase  of  anthropologi- 
cal science,  the  more  decidedly  contradictory  is  it  of  the 
assertions  of  the  others.  It  was  not  a  cheering  outlook 
when,  at  a  recent  scientific  gathering,  an  eminent  anato- 
mist remarked  that  he  "  did  not  care  a  rap  for  languages 
as  a  means  of  race  identification,"  to  which  a  philologist 
replied,  "  What  is  so  variable  as  the  shape  of  a  skull  ?  "  - 
But  the  shape  of  a  skull  seems  to  have  some  bearing 
on  the  question  of  racial  origin  in  connection  with  the 
Serpent  Mound.  The  recent  exhaustive  examination  of 
the  broad  plateau  stretching  southeastward  from  the 
earth-work  has  yielded,  among  others,  the  very  significant 
fact  that  two  peoples  have  used  the  place  as  one  of  burial, 
and  that  one  antedates  the  other ;  and  it  is  further  very 
significant  that  the  evidently  more  recent  occupants  were 
historic  Indians.  After  all,  the  shape  of  the  skull  does 
mean  something — is  a  tangible  fact ;  and  the  difference 
between  the  crania  of  Indians  and  of  the  earlier  mound- 
builders  is  too  persistent  to  be  denied  or  explained  away 
as  a  mere  coincidence.  In  the  burial  place  that  I  have  men- 
tioned, the  more  ancient  interments — those,  that  is,  that 
may  be  safely  referred  to  the  time  of  the  Serpent  Mound 
and  its  builders — are  of  a  short-headed  people,  that  were 
of  the  same  stock  as  the  ancient  Mexicans.  I  would  not  be 
understood  as  saying  that  the  mound-builders  were  Mexi- 
cans or  vice  versa,  but  that  they  were  both  offshoots  from 
a  brachycephalic  race  that  reached  America  by  a  trans- 
pacific route.  This  is  the  view  that  has  been  expressed 
by  Prof.  Putnam  in  recent  lectures,  and  his  most  recent 

15 


226  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

explorations  have  yielded  nothing  that  conflicts  with  it. 
On  the  contrary,  every  fact  gathered  by  the  most  laborious 
and  exhaustive  examination  of  mound  after  mound  goes 
to  establish  the  view  that  the  people  who  built  them  were 
not  the  historic  Indians,  nor  even  their  immediate  ances- 
tors. On  the  other  hand,  that  certain  well-known  tribes 
of  Indians,  notably  the  Shawnees  and  Natchez,  as  an  in- 
stance, were  descended  remotely  and  indirectly  from  these 
builders  of  earth-works,  is  extremely  probable. 

The  fact  that  Indians,  in  very  recent  times  even,  built 
mounds — mere  conical  shapes  of  earth  placed  over  their 
dead — does  not  warrant  us  in  assuming  from  such  a  fact 
alone  that  the  elaborate  structures,  such  as  the  Serpent 
Mound,  were  also  the  work  of  their  hands.  Had  it  and 
many  other  of  the  earth-structures  in  Ohio  been  erected 
by  them  or  their  immediate  ancestors,  it  is  highly  improb- 
able that  this  fact,  and  that  of  their  significance,  should 
have  been  completely  forgotten ;  yet  not  one  of  them 
finds  place  in  Indian  history. 

Its  purpose  ?  Whether  we  admit  its  origin  to  be  pre- 
Indian  or  not,  this  question  will  be  asked,  and  it  is  a  curi- 
ous fact  in  the  experience  of  the  writer  that  the  visitors  to 
the  Serpent  Mound  never  wait  to  hear  a  reply  after  put- 
ting the  question,  but  follow  it  with  their  own  views. 
Probably  the  average  student  of  archaeology  would  only 
go  so  far  as  to  suggest  the  probability  that  it  had,  in 
the  minds  of  the  builders,  a  religious  significance.  This 
view,  I  have  found,  meets  with  little  favor  from  the  casual 
visitor.  "  Injuns  were  heathen,  and  hadn't  no  religion," 
was  the  prompt  reply  of  one. 

In  the  minds  of  its  builders,  this  great  earth- work  was 
doubtless  tenanted  by  a  serpent  spirit  which  was  thought 
to  faithfully  guard  the  dead  who  rested  near  it,  if  not  the 
living  who  dwelt  in  the  surrounding  region.  But  that 
kindly  spirit  slumbers  as  profoundly  now  as  do  the  mighty 


SEPTEMBER.  227 

coils  and  gaping  jaws  that  have  braved  for  unknown  cent- 
uries alike  the  torrid  heat  of  summer  and  pitiless  raging 
of  midwinter  storms. 

This  religious  or  symbolical  character  of  the  entire 
structure  is  emphasized,  I  think,  from  the  fact  that  a 
large  oval  embankment  is  situated  directly  in  front  of  the 
serpent's  gaping  jaws.  This  added  earth-work  gives  an 
even  more  life-like  appearance  to  the  whole,  although  it 
was  by  no  means  needed.  What,  of  course,  is  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  "egg,"  as  this  oval  structure  is  popularly 
called,  can  only  be  conjectured ;  but  indeed  there  is  little 
to  be  done  but  guess,  and  never  very  shrewdly  perhaps, 
while  we  wander  along  the  curves  or  pause  to  admire  the 
gracefully  coiled  tail,  or,  from  the  park-land  behind  it 
all,  we  survey  the  structure  as  a  whole. 

And  here  let  me  add  that  every  opportunity  is  now 
offered  to  him  who  would  study  this  vestige  of  antiquity. 
It  was  a  happy  thought  to  preserve  it  for  all  time  from  the 
destruction  that  threatened  it.  Eecently  it  was  purchased 
by  private  contributions,  and  is  now,  with  all  the  immedi- 
ately adjacent  land,  held  in  trust  by  the  Peabody  Museum 
of  American  Archaeology  of  Cambridge,  Massachusetts. 

I  saw  the  Serpent  last  when  a  death-like  stillness 
brooded  over  all ;  when  even  the  cricket's  restless  rasping 
was  hushed,  and  it  was  fitting  at  such  a  time  to  bid  this 
mystery  of  a  distant  past  farewell. 

On  the  10th  of  the  month  I  happened  to  be  wandering 
along  the  enormous  curves  of  the  Serpent  Mound  when  my 
attention  was  called  to  a  little  tuft  of  grass  that  for  some 
reason  had  been  left  standing. 

The  day  before  the  ground  for  a  considerable  space 
had  been  closely  mowed,  and  not  a  trace  of  the  beautiful 
autumn  bloom  that  had  made  the  spot  a  garden  of  de- 
lights had  been  left  standing.  Mist-flower,  golden-rod, 


228  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

iron-weed,  and  asters  were  all  laid  low,  leaving  the  lone 
tuft  of  grass  a  prominent  object.  On  a  near  approach 
I  found  that  it  covered  but  did  not  conceal  a  sitting 
quail.  Stooping  down,  I  put  my  face  within  a  foot  of  the 
brave  bird,  and  yet  she  would  not  move ;  but  never  for  an 
instant  did  she  take  her  eyes  from  me.  It  was  evident 
that  I  must  actually  touch  her  before  she  would  leave  her 
nest,  and  this  I  abstained  from  doing. 

Day  after  day  I  saw  her,  and  she  was  always  equally 
courageous.  A  week  later,  my  companion  happened  to 
pass  by,  and  found  that  the  nest  had  been  abandoned. 
The  mother  bird  and  her  brood  had  gone,  but  the  nest 
was  not  really  empty.  Seven  pearly  egg-shells  remained, 
and  they  were  well  worthy  of  study.  Each  had  been 
opened — not  merely  broken — alike  and  in  a  curious  man- 
ner. A  clean  cut  had  been  made  nearly  around  the  shell, 
but  enough  remained  intact  to  hold  the  two  portions  to- 
gether. This  unsevered  portion  acted  as  a  hinge,  and  so 
the  little  quails  had  merely  opened  a  wide  door  of  their 
own  making,  and  through  it  stepped  out  of  their  cramped 
quarters  of  the  past  two  weeks  or  more  into  the  outer 
world.  Occasionally  I  have  seen  a  single  egg,  or  perhaps 
two  in  a  nest,  the  shells  of  which  had  been  opened  in  such 
a  methodical  manner,  but  never  before  where  such  marked 
similarity  characterized  the  whole  series. 

I  have  said  that  the  young  birds  had  "  stepped  out " ; 
rather  they  had  run,  and  I  can  testify  to  what  good  pur- 
pose they  can  put  their  tender  feet.  Still,  for  the  first 
day  of  their  freedom  they  were  somewhat  bewildered  by 
the  strange  sights  about  them,  and  their  helplessness 
when  but  a  few  hours  old  touched  even  the  heart  of  the 
grizzled  archaeologist  who  for  weeks  had  been  studying 
the  mysterious  earthen  serpent  that  for  centuries  has 
rested  upon  the  summit  of  the  cliff.  He  almost  wished 
himself  a  naturalist,  as  in  former  days,  when  the  callow 


SEPTEMBER.  229 

creature  that  he  caught  and  carefully  stroked  was  cud- 
dled in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  a  spark  of  old-time 
enthusiasm  thrilled  him  when  the  warning  cry  of  the 
mother  bird  was  heard,  to  which  the  captured  baby  quail 
feebly  responded.  But  here  the  unearthing  of  relics 
called  the  archaeologist  away,  and  I  took  up  the  study  of 
the  quail. 

That  parent  birds  are  cunning  all  the  world  knows, 
and  it  is  commonly  added  that  young  birds,  the  moment 
they  are  hatched,  know  by  instinct  the  meaning  of  their 
parents'  calls.  I  do  not  believe  it.  Baby  quails  have  a 
good  deal  to  learn  in  the  first  two  or  three  days  of  their 
lives,  and  the  old  birds  realize  that  it  falls  to  them  to  be 
the  teachers  as  well  as  protectors  of  their  offspring.  It 
was  very  evident,  I  hold,  that  the  seven  little  quails  at  the 
Serpent  Mound  did  not  understand  the  urgent  whistling 
of  their  parents  when  they  squatted  in  the  grass.  They 
did  not  now  respond,  nor  had  the  antics  of  the  mother 
bird,  when  she  feigned  being  wounded,  any  effect  upon 
them.  They  occasionally  shifted  their  positions,  and  as 
often  exposed  themselves  as  sought  a  better  cover.  Later, 
when  the  field  was  clear,  the  parent  birds  gathered  them, 
after  long  search,  and  as  systematically  as  a  shepherd 
traces  the  wanderings  of  lost  sheep.  For  at  least  a  day, 
if  not  for  two,  the  anxious  movements  of  the  old  quails 
were  meaningless  to  their  young;  but  not  so  a  day  or 
two  later.  Then  you  could  no  more  have  caught  the 
latter  than  the  former.  A  little  experience  had  gone  a 
great  way  in  educating  the  brood,  but  that  little  was 
necessary. 

I  have  laid  stress  upon  this  trivial  occurrence,  as  I  wish 
to  add  a  word  of  caution  as  to  the  common  use  of  the 
term  "  instinct."  It  is  better  to  explain  the  habits  of  an 
animal  by  other  means,  and  fall  back  upon  instinct  when 
all  else  fails.  I  have  followed  the  fortunes  of  many  a 


230  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

hundred  broods  of  wild  birds,  and  know  with  what  as- 
tonishing rapidity  they  mature  intellectually.  In  many 
cases  it  is  but  a  matter  of  two  or  three  days,  but  it  is  a 
transit  from  ignorance  to  knowledge,  nevertheless. 

I  had  no  glimpse  even  of  these  young  quails  after  they 
were  four  days  old ;  yet  I  knew  they  were  very  near  me 
many  times  each  day.  They  had  learned  that  mankind 
were  enemies — not  from  instinct,  but  through  instruction  ; 
their  parents  had  told  them  so.  This  may  seem  strained 
and  overfanciful,  but  after  being  many  weeks  afield  and 
disposed  to  observe  without  preconceived  notions,  I,  for 
one,  always  fall  back  upon  this  leading  thought,  that 
birds,  at  least,  if  not  all  animal  life,  are  quite  well  gifted 
with  sound  common  sense,  and  this  is  their  main  safe- 
guard. 

For  a  month  a  pair  of  Bewick's  wrens  dwelt  opposite 
my  tent,  holding  our  ample  wood-pile  against  all  comers. 
At  sunrise,  let  the  weather  be  what  it  might,  they  were 
astir,  ready  to  resent  the  near  approach  of  any  bird,  and 
for  an  hour  or  more  each  day  sang  so  sweetly  that  the  best 
efforts  of  the  crested  tit,  the  summer  redbird,  or  the  cardi- 
nal seemed  poor  indeed. 

Close  at  hand  was  the  rude  oven  of  unhewed  stones, 
about  which  Katie,  the  cook,  flitted  industriously,  and 
her  the  suspicious  wrens  ignored  entirely.  As  breakfast 
was  being  prepared  the  old  wren  cheered  her  with  his 
song,  but  I  was  never  to  be  so  favored.  Neither  my  com- 
panion nor  myself  could  do  aught  but  listen  from  our 
tents.  The  moment  either  appeared,  the  bird  darted  to 
some  safe  cranny  among  the  logs.  This,  as  I  have  said, 
was  not  a  chance  occurrence,  but  the  established  habit  of 
the  wrens.  They  were  not  afraid  of  a  woman ;  they  were 
afraid  of  men. 

There  was  of  course  some  reason  for  this,  and  I  would 
that  I  could  report  its  discovery  as  mathematically  demon- 


SEPTEMBER.  231 

strated  ;  but  how  seldom  can  we  do  this !  I  let  my  fancy 
run  riot  for  three  weeks,  and  imagined  all  sorts  of  extrava- 
gant explanations.  At  last  a  ray  of  light  seemed  to  fall 
upon  the  mystery.  Toward  the  close  of  my  days  in  camp 
I  noticed  that  when  the  wood-pile  was  rudely  disturbed 
by  the  chopper,  the  wrens  appeared  and  scolded  vehe- 
mently ;  and  then  until  the  next  day  all  would  be  quiet,  and 
the  morning  song  lost  none  of  its  sweetness  because  of  the 
ruffled  temper  of  the  day  before.  A  week  later  the  ox- 
team  brought  a  load  of  drift-wood  from  the  creek,  and 
when  this  was  rudely  tossed,  stick  by  stick,  upon  the  pile, 
again  the  wrens  protested. 

Here,  then,  was  an  apparent  clew.  Whatever  the 
wrens  suffered  was  by  the  hands  of  men,  while  the  ever- 
present  Katie  in  no  wise  interfered  with  their  pleasure.  Is 
it  possible  that  the  birds  realized  the  difference  between 
Wallace  and  his  ox-team,  or  Martin  with  his  axe,  and 
Katie  the  cook?  It  certainly  appeared  so.  With  my 
field-glass  I  watched  these  wrens  one  morning,  more 
closely  than  usual,  as  soon  as  they  appeared.  Early  as  it 
was,  Katie  was  already  astir,  yet  the  wrens  appeared  not 
even  to  see  her.  Without  hesitation  they  flew  into  the 
open  kitchen  and  caught  the  chilled  flies  that  had  clus- 
tered about  the  pots  and  dishes.  If  Katie  came  too  near, 
they  flitted  to  the  other  end  of  the  long  table  and  con- 
tinued their  hunt,  and  when  their  morning  meal  was  over, 
the  old  male  sweetly  warbled  thanks  for  both. 

There  can  be  no  question  but  that  they  recognized  our 
cook  as  their  friend,  perhaps  supposed  she  provided  the 
flies  for  them.  Be  this  as  it  may,  they  were  bold  to  a 
degree  until  the  professor  or  I  appeared,  when  they 
promptly  skurried  off,  to  be  seen  no  more  that  day.  I 
may  be  wrong,  but  I  believe  my  explanation  is  not  wholly 
wild.  It  is  something  to  watch  the  same  pair  of  birds 
for  weeks.  You  get  by  so  doing  an  insight  into  their  char- 


232  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

acter  that  a  chance  meeting  will  never  afford.  I  came  to 
look  upon  these  cunning  wrens  as  creatures  that  thought, 
and  I  hold,  indeed,  that  we  should  so  look  upon  all 
birds. 

Away  from  camp,  down  in  the  tangle  of  the  wild 
Brush  Creek  bottom,  I  found  many  a  cunning  bird.  How 
cleverly,  just  as  I  leveled  my  field-glass,  they  all  eluded 
pursuit  and  disappeared  in  the  caves  along  the  cliff,  or,  if 
not  there,  in  the  cavernous  old  dead  sycamores  !  Cardi- 
nals, jays,  titmice,  sparrows,  fly-catchers,  and  wrens,  they 
all  knew  they  were  upon  dangerous  ground,  and  shunned 
au^iving  creatures  but  themselves. 

Why  dangerous  ground  ?  Those  rocky  ledges,  draped 
with  impenetrable  growths,  were  the  black-snakes'  para- 
dise; the  bleached  and  hollow  trees  that  stood  like  so 
many  ghastly  sentinels  along  the  creek's  crooked  shores 
ambushed  innumerable  hawks  and  owls.  There  was  scarce- 
ly a  cave  but  harbored  a  mink,  a  raccoon,  or  a  skunk ; 
while  in  the  dark  pools  into  which  the  rippling  waters 
ominously  disappeared  lurked  the  wily  soft-shelled  turtles 
that  have  a  serpent's  neck  and  head,  with  also  their  agility 
and  cunning.  In  such  a  spot  it  behooved  the  harmless 
and  helpless  birds  to  be  cunning  and  careful,  for  their 
safety  lay  only  in  their  quickness  of  wit.  When  I  saw 
what  hosts  of  enemies  surrounded  them  I  did  not  wonder 
at  their  wildness. 

Within  a  stone's  throw  of  my  home  in  New  Jersey 
these  same  birds  are  abundant,  but  there  their  foes  are 
few.  I  can  always  approach  reasonably  near  to  them 
without  difficulty.  They  quickly  learn  that  here  they  are 
comparatively  safe.  A  few  months  ago  I  chanced  upon  a 
nest  of  the  small  green-crested  fly-catcher  without  disturb- 
ing the  sitting  bird.  Twice  daily  after  that  I  visited  the 
nest  to  see  if  I  could  have  so  remarkable  an  experience  as 
did  a  friend  with  another  sitting  bird.  Before  the  young 


SEPTEMBER.  233 

had  left  the  nest  I  twice  stroked  the  parent  bird  without 
her  taking  flight.  Never,  I  venture  to  say,  a  nesting  bird  in 
the  Brush  Creek  Valley  would  prove  so  trustful.  Nature 
there  is  more  evenly  balanced,  and  every  bird  that  tarries 
has  a  veritable  struggle  for  its  existence.  Certainly  those 
that  nested  in  the  more  open  shrubbery  (and  they  were 
many)  must  have  been  ever  on  the  alert.  Indeed,  I  came 
to  look  upon  every  empty  nest  as  necessarily  the  scene  of 
a  tragedy,  yet  in  truth  the  great  majority  had  escaped 
molestation. 

But  this  cunning  had  its  ludicrous  phases ;  at  least  I 
was  daily  entertained  by  the  quick  wits  of  the  kill-deer 
plover.  During  September  these  birds  were  phenomenally 
abundant.  Even  throughout  the  night  they  passed  over 
my  tent  incessantly,  often  at  a  great  elevation.  Aroused 
at  times  by  the  hooting  of  the  great  horned  owls,  I  have 
caught  the  faint  dee-dee  of  a  wandering  plover,  falling  as 
softly  as  the  whisper  of  a  star,  and  then,  as  the  bird 
swooped  earthward,  the  shrill  kill-deer  !  kill-deer !  rang 
out  with  startling  distinctness  on  the  still  night  air. 
They  gloried  in  the  glimmer  of  the  harvest-moon  as  I 
never  before  had  known  birds  to  do  ;  but  where  were  they 
at  high  noon?  I  missed  them  for  a  long  time,  and 
learned  at  last  that  they  were  skulking,  often  in  silence, 
upon  the  plowed  fields.  I  often  tried  to  approach,  but 
found  it  impracticable.  Long  before  I  was  within  a  rea- 
sonable distance  I  was  discovered,  and  away  they  flew.  I 
tried  stalking,  but  this  proved  of  no  avail;  they  knew 
they  were  being  pursued,  and  posted  sentinels  wherever 
they  were.  Think  for  a  moment  what  an  elaborate  men- 
tal effort  this  implies !  These  birds  devised  an  intricate 
plan  to  insure,  not  individual  safety,  but  that  of  their  lit- 
tle community.  Their  actions  showed  that  they  not  only 
planned,  but  jointly  planned ;  and  therefore,  be  it  lan- 
guage or  something  else,  they  had  a  means  of  conveying 


234:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

their  thoughts  one  to  the  other.  The  few  kill-deers  that 
frequent  the  meadows  in  early  spring  at  home  had  never 
appeared  to  advantage  as  birds  of  brains;  but  here,  in 
southern  Ohio,  they  were  pre-eminently  so. 

I  have  not  exhausted  the  list  of  birds  I  found  within 
the  limits  of  my  daily  walks  while  in  camp,  but  they  were 
all  alike  in  this  one  respect — they  were  quick-witted. 
Vultures  were  abundant,  yet,  though  they  often  swept  by 
the  trees  upon  the  cliff,  not  even  a  timid  sparrow  lifted  a 
wing,  knowing  full  well  their  harmlessness ;  but  if  merely 
the  shadow  of  a  passing  hawk  fell  upon  the  leaves,  the 
timid  birds  that  instant  sought  safety  in  the  dense  under- 
growth beneath.  I  had  noticed  something  of  this  before, 
at  home,  but  never  until  now  in  so  marked  a  degree. 
Here  is  an  instance  where  discriminating  knowledge  has 
been  acquired. 

To  see  a  bird  poise  upon  a  trembling  twig  or  cut  the 
clear  air  with  its  pulsing  wing,  to  hear  it  sing  of  a  bright 
May  morning  or  warn  its  callow  brood  when  danger  is 
near,  is  to  see  simply,  but  never  to  learn  also, -what  man- 
ner of  creature  a  bird  really  is.  To  live  among  them  for 
weeks,  and  to  watch  them  daily  and  nightly,  is  to  gain  at 
least  an  inkling  of  their  true  character ;  and  they  who  do 
this  are  of  one  accord,  I  think,  that  a  bird  possesses  a 
goodly  store  of  wit. 

And  the  same  is  equally  true  of  other  forms  of  life. 
My  tent  had  not  been  pitched  more  than  an  hour  before  I 
had  occasion  to  enter  it,  and  to  my  surprise  I  found  it  al- 
ready tenanted.  A  grim  gray  spider  had  an  elaborate 
web  in  one  corner,  in  which  a  fly  was  already  tangled ;  a 
gray  lizard  was  dozing  on  the  mattress ;  shining  beetles 
crept  through  the  cracks  of  the  loose  board  floor.  This 
was  encouraging.  I  was  assured  of  many  friends  under 
my  canvas  to  entertain  me  during  rainy  days,  and  so  it 
proved.  Beetles  in  abundance,  but  stupid  to  the  last ; 


SEPTEMBER.  235 

spiders,  lizards,  and  snakes,  knowing  creatures  all  of  them, 
and  endlessly  amusing. 

Let  us  consider  them  in  the  order  named.  I  was 
soon  compelled  to  make  friends  with  the  spiders,  as  they 
straightway  became  so  numerous  and  fearless  that  mutual 
toleration  was  necessary.  Had  there  been  rebellion  on 
either  side,  the  chances  were  in  favor  of  my  discomfiture. 

I  had  no  trouble.  Not  a  nook  or  corner  for  several 
days  but  was  occupied  by  a  web,  and  often  I  was  forced  to 
destroy  these  to  get  at  some  of  my  photographic  or  other 
apparatus.  In  a  few  days  the  spiders  learned  where  I  was 
most  apt  to  be  and  what  objects  in  the  tent  were  likely 
to  be  disturbed,  and  retired  to  the  ridge-pole,  beneath  my 
table,  and  behind  certain  boxes  that  were  constantly 
opened  but  never  moved  from  their  places. 

This  is  a  bold  if  not  a  rash  statement.  I  have  said 
the  spiders  "  learned."  Do  spiders  learn  by  experience  ? 
Can  they  be  taught  ?  Let  us  see.  From  the  very  neces- 
sities of  the  case  spiders  must  be  cunning  or  they  would 
starve.  Their  food  is  not  taken  by  brute  force,  nor  capt- 
ured by  outrunning  the  pursued  insect.  As  their  de- 
pendence is  so  largely  if  not  wholly  upon  strategy,  a  high 
degree  of  intelligence  must  be  accorded  them.  Spiders 
have  been  known  to  weight  their  webs  with  stones  that 
they  might  be  steadied  during  a  gale  of  wind,  and  one 
at  least  has  been  known  to  completely  alter  its  mode  of 
life  because  of  accident  making  impracticable  the  ordi- 
nary methods  of  food-capture.  These  more  wonderful 
.evidences  of  mental  strength  are  too  well  attested  to  be 
doubted,  and  I  was  well  prepared  to  find  those  spiders 
that  crowded  my  tent  equal  to  all  that  I  have  recorded  of 
them. 

As  is  my  wont,  I  devised  various  simple  experiments 
to  test  their  cunning,  and  so  whiled  away  many  a  lonely 
hour.  Choosing  one  great  gray  fellow  that  had  an  elab- 


236  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

orate  web  just  back  of  my  table,  I  endeavored  to  deter- 
mine if  it  would  recognize  me  as  a  purveyor  if  I  assumed 
that  office.  At  the  outset  no  sooner  was  my  candle  lighted 
and  I  had  taken  my  seat  than  the  spider  would  retreat 
to  its  innermost  sanctum,  and  not  reappear  while  I  was 
at  work.  It  was  afraid  of  me,  and  of  me  only,  and  not 
of  the  candle  or  its  nickering  flame.  I  commenced  then  by 
offering  a  fly  impaled  upon  a  delicate  splint  from  Katie's 
broom.  No  notice  was  taken  of  it  so  long  as  my  hand 
was  in  sight.  I  kept  the  fly  in  position  all  the  evening, 
resting  it  between  two  books,  but  still  in  line  with  my 
hand,  which  was  in  constant  motion,  for  I  was  busy  writing. 
Directly  after  I  retired  the  fly  was  seized  and  dragged 
away.  Night  after  night  I  struck  a  match  to  determine 
this,  and  always  with  the  same  result.  It  was  quick  work 
with  the  spider,  for  I  relighted  my  candle  several  times 
almost  the  same  moment  that  I  extinguished  it,  but  never 
caught  the  spider,  and  yet  the  fly  had  disappeared.  It 
evidently  followed  my  movements  very  closely — a  proof 
itself  of  cunning. 

During  the  second  week  the  necessary  confidence  was 
•gained,  and  the  flies  were  seized  if  the  splint  was  several 
inches  long  and  I  did  not  move  my  hand.  The  rest  was 
easy,  and  every  night  the  splint  was  shortened  until  but 
two  inches  in  length,  but  I  never  could  induce  the  spider 
to  take  a  fly  directly  from  my  fingers  or  allow  me  to  touch 
it.  Then  came  the  concluding  evidence  of  the  spider's 
teachableness.  Long  before  I  left  camp  it  would  come 
from  its  web  and  take  its  place  before  me,  when  the. 
candle  was  lighted  and  I  had  sat  down  to  write,  expecting 
its  nightly  ration  of  two  or  three  flies.  These  I  nearly 
always  provided.  During  the  day  the  spider  did  not  pay 
any  attention  to  me,  nor  would  it  show  itself  at  night  if  I 
moved  about  restlessly,  had  company,  or  made  any  unusual 
noise,  such  as  whistling.  It  had  learned  to  associate  my 


SEPTEMBER.  237 

position  at  the  table,  directly  facing  its  web,  with  an  avail- 
able supply  of  food;  and  probably  of  my  personality, 
otherwise,  it  had  no  conception.  It  did  not,  I  think,  go 
so  far  as  to  distinguish  me  from  others ;  but  still  it  can  be 
said  that  the  spider  had  proved  teachable. 

Sir  John  Lubbock,  in  a  recent  volume  on  "  Animal  In- 
telligence," does  not  consider  that  spiders  have  good  eye- 
sight at  all ;  but  certainly  my  "  tent  "  specimens  saw  what 
they  were  about,  or,  if  not,  by  what  means  were  they 
guided  to  act  as  I  have  described  ?  Indeed,  one  seemed 
even  to  see  in  the  dark,  but  in  this  case,  I  think,  the  exact 
bearings  were  taken  and  it  felt  its  way  along — something, 
by  the  way,  that  was  truly  marvelous,  considering  the  ra- 
pidity of  the  creature's  movements. 

Another  cunning  spider  in  my  tent  had  an  enormous 
web  attached  to  the  roof  and  around  the  ridge-pole.  To 
it  I  made  daily  many  offerings  of  house-flies.  It  seemed 
at  last  to  know  me  and  expect  them,  so  I  tested  the  creat- 
ure's patience,  if  not  its  ingenuity.  Filling  a  homoeo- 
pathic vial  with  flies,  I  placed  it  just  beyond  the  web  and 
suspended  it  by  a  thread  to  the  pole.  The  spider  made 
several  attempts  to  reach  them  from  the  nearest  point  of 
the  web,  and,  failing  in  this,  made  an  addition  to  it,  and  so 
secured  the  vial,  but  could,  of  course,  go  no  farther.  Daily 
additional  webs  were  placed  about  the  little  bottle  until  it 
was  almost  concealed.  The  flies  were  all  dead  on  the  third 
day,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  the  bottle  was  lying 
on  the  floor  of  the  tent.  I  do  not  know,  but  suspect  that 
the  spider  pitched  it  overboard  in  disgust. 

A  word  more  concerning  spiders.  About  noon  one 
clear,  warm,  quiet  September  day  I  chanced  to  pause  at 
a  turnstile  before  going  through,  and  at  that  moment 
caught  sight  of  a  curious  spider.  It  appeared  to  be  stand- 
ing upon  its  head  and  fore  legs,  and  was  quite  motionless. 
On  examination  I  found  that  it  was  spinning  almost  in- 


238  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

visible  threads,  which  mounted  directly  upward  and  were 
lost  to  view.  First  one  and  then  another  spinneret  gave 
up  its  thread,  and  a  dozen  or  more  were  wafted  into  space 
while  I  stood  watching.  Then,  without  any  premonition, 
the  spider  gave  a  leap,  and  with  its  legs  folded  up  beneath 
it,  passed  upward  and  out  of  sight. 

My  old  favorites  the  gray  lizards  too  were  ever  present. 
Fly-catchers,  like  the  spiders,  they  rambled  over  the  tent 
without  hinderance,  and  afforded  no  end  of  amusement. 
They  were  never  careful  of  the  spiders'  rights,  and  often 
ran  recklessly  through  an  elaborately  adjusted  web.  The 
spiders  never  resented  this ;  not  because  they  were  afraid, 
I  think,  but  for  the  reason  that  they  were  powerless.  Not 
one  was  capable  of  effectively  biting  denser  tissues  than 
those  of  insects.  None,  probably,  either  in  the  fields  or 
woods,  are  venomous.  Some  may  be,  but  the  danger  has 
in  all  cases  been  grossly  exaggerated,  and  the  common 
fear  of  our  spiders  is  not  warranted  by  anything  known 
of  these  creatures  as  a  class. 

One  old  lizard  became  exceedingly  tame,  and  was  my 
tent  companion  for  many  days.  Its  fear  of  mankind  van- 
ished on  the  day  of  capture,  and  it  was  very  glad  to  have 
me  offer  it  flies,  which  it  took  directly  from  my  fingers. 
I  soon  learned  the  reason — it  was  not  expert  at  catching 
them.  I  saw  it  make  many  failures,  and  so  I  soothed  its 
disappointment  frequently  by  catching  them  for  it.  I  be- 
came, therefore,  associated  with  food  in  its  mind,  and  so 
gained  its  confidence. 

One  afternoon  I  entered  the  tent  suddenly  and  placed 
a  large  dead  garter-snake  upon  my  table.  I  did  not  notice 
the  lizard  at  the  time,  but  it  was  watching  me,  and  no 
sooner  had  I  laid  the  serpent  down  than  it  darted  behind 
my  mattress.  I  was  not  sure  but  this  was  a  mere  coinci- 
dence, and  brought  it  back  to  the  table.  The  instant  I 
put  it  down  uncontrollable  fear  possessed  it,  and  its  efforts 


to  escape  were  indescribably  frantic.  Eecapturing  it  the 
second  time,  I  placed  it  in  a  pen,  quickly  constructed  of 
books  and  boards,  and  slowly  introduced  the  snake,  push- 
ing it  forward,  inch  by  inch.  Immediately  the  lizard 
stood  nearly  upright,  and  as  the  snake's  head  touched  it, 
swelled  up  until  I  thought  it  would  burst,  and  then  fell 
over,  limp,  shriveled,  and  apparently  dead. 

I  was  puzzled  at  this,  and  left  the  tent  in  hopes  of 
finding  another  lizard  in  the  wood-pile.  Failing  in  this, 
I  returned,  and  was  more  surprised  than  ever  to  find  that 
the  lizard  had  not  really  died  from  fright,  but  had  merely 
swooned  from  fear.  It  was  now  partly  itself  again,  almost 
colorless  or  a  very  pale  gray,  crouched  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  snake,  and  trembling.  Did  it  expect  every  mo- 
ment to  be  seized  and  devoured  ?  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know ; 
the  more  so  because  I  have  had  serpents  and  these  gray 
swifts,  as  they  are  usually  called,  associated  in  Wardian 
cases,  and  no  evidence  of  fear  on  the  part  of  either  was  de- 
tected. I  can  only  suggest  that  my  tent  lizard  had  had  an 
ugly  experience  in  which  a  snake  had  prominently  figured. 
A  valuable  point  would  be  gained  could  this  be  proved,  for 
then  it  would  be  shown  that  lizards  have  memory.  But 
those  persons  who  have  had  them  as  pets  are  generally 
convinced  of  this ;  and  is  not  general  conviction  tanta- 
mount to  a  demonstration  ?  Not  always,  I  admit ;  but  in 
such  a  matter  as  evidence  of  intelligence  in  low  animal 
forms  it  is  about  all  that  can  be  offered. 

And  here  is  what  I  have  to  offer  as  evidence  that  my 
pet  remembered.  When  I  released  the  creature  it  slowly 
crawled  away,  for  it  was  yet  weak,  and  gradually  widened 
the  distance  until  hidden  in  a  far  corner  of  the  tent. 
Three  days  later  I  chanced  upon  it  as  it  was  darting  after 
flies.  Its  activity  showed  that  it  had  wholly  recovered. 
Again  I  brought  it  to  the  table,  and  although  neither 
snake,  books,  nor  boards  were  there,  the  lizard  was  sorely 


240  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

frightened,  and  made  desperate  efforts  to  escape,  and  this 
fear  of  that  spot,  the  table-top,  continued  during  the  re- 
mainder of  my  stay  in  camp. 

I  had  no  pet  snakes,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  but  I  made 
some  progress  in  acquiring  the  good  graces  of  one  small 
serpent,  a  half-grown  garter-snake,  that  was  brought  to 
me  a  day  or  two  after  my  arrival.  While  I  held  it  in  my 
hands,  and  for  the  two  days  it  was  in  a  little  box,  all  ef- 
forts to  tame  it  were  a  flat  failure.  As  it  was  quite  unin- 
teresting, I  let  it  go,  and  it  took  refuge  under  the  floor. 
During  the  heat  of  the  day  this  timid  snake  would  bask 
on  the  floor  while  I  was  out,  but  scuttled  off  as  soon  as  I 
appeared.  So  I  tried  my  old  tactics  of  gradual  approach. 
First  my  shadow  would  fall  upon  it,  then  I  would  move 
a  step  or  two  forward  and  remain  a  moment  perfectly 
still,  then  advance,  and  so  on.  Day  by  day  I  gained  a 
little,  and  at  last  could  enter  the  tent.  But  this  was  all. 
The  snake  preserved  a  make-ready  attitude,  and  if  I 
stooped  or  swung  my  arms  it  was  gone  in  an  instant. 
Very  different  proved  a  young  black-snake  that  my  asso- 
ciate, the  archaeologist,  had  nerve  enough  to  bring  to  me. 
It  would  do  nothing  but  bite,  and  fairly  exhausted  itself 
in  impotent  rage.  Although  less  than  a  foot  in  length 
and  but  a  few  weeks  old,  it  was  unteachable.  Its  hatred 
of  mankind  had  not  been  developed  by  experience,  but 
was  inherited,  and  this  law  of  heredity  I  endeavored  to 
overcome  by  kindness.  But  the  snake  would  have  none 
of  it,  and  not  even  when  alone  would  it  accept  the  food 
provided.  I  mention  this  because  an  adult  black-snake, 
although  fierce  and  brave  when  cornered,  is  something  of 
a  coward,  after  all ;  and,  as  I  know  by  experience,  it  is 
intelligent  and  tamable.  I  have  never  dared  to  write  the 
history  of  one  I  finally  conquered  by  persistent  kindness. 
But  does  not  this  all  go  to  show  how  intelligent  snakes 
really  are  ?  When  young,  hopelessly  unreasonable ;  when 


SEPTEMBER. 

older,  willing  to  listen  to  reason,  and  at  last  be  guided  by 
it.     Does  not  this  smack  of  human  nature  just  a  little  ? 

So  ended  my  camp  experiences  in  the  study  of  animal 
intelligence.  The  results  were  all  the  same,  whatever 
forms  of  life  I  tested.  Cunning,  ingenuity,  memory,  all 
were  evidently  features  of  their  minds.  I  say  "  minds," 
for  I  can  think  of  no  other  word  that  meets  the  case. 
How,  indeed,  can  one  creature  outwit  another ;  how  can 
it  plan  to  meet  some  desired  end,  new  until  then  to  its 
experience  ;  how  can  it  remember  people,  places,  things — 
unless  it  has  what  we  call  in  ourselves  a  mind  ? 


16 


CHAPTER  X. 

OCTOBER. 

A  WRINKLED  quince,  a  rotting  pear,  three  grapes,  and  a 
gnarly  apple  comprise  the  list  of  "  goodly  fruits  "  that  I 
gathered,  this  hazy,  dreamy  second  of  October,  1887,  from 
an  old  garden,  of  which  but  the  merest  traces  are  remain- 
ing. The  day  was  fitted  only  for  retrospective  work  such 
as  this.  The  mellow  light  of  the  half-hidden  sun,  the 
muffled  notes  of  the  birds  from  the  fog- wrapped  meadows, 
the  steady  dropping  of  decaying  leaves,  all  led  to  medita- 
tion. I  called  back  the  spring  time  of  another  century. 

It  was  of  this  garden  that  Jane  Bishop,  in  May,  1703, 
wrote :  "  We  have  now  an  abundance  of  goodly  fruit,  which 
father  planted  some  seven  years  ago ;  and  it  is  with  joy 
that  I  see  growing,  as  we  wished,  the  blossoms  that  sister 
and  I  did  gather  from  the  adjoining  woods." 

Jane  Bishop  was  young  then,  and  cared  far  more  for 
flowers  and  the  wild  world  about  her  than  the  monoto- 
nous tirades  against  frivolous  pleasures  to  which  every 
First-day  she  was  doomed  to  listen.  Her  love  of  flowers 
and  a  spirit  of  mischief  went  hand  in  hand,  and  she  it 
was  who,  in  October,  1705,  deluged  a  meeting  of  sedate 
old  Friends,  at  her  father's  house,  with  thousands  of  scar- 
let autumn  leaves.  It  was  purely  an  accident,  so  she  said, 
and  of  course  it  was — not.  She  it  was  who,  on  plea  of 
shading  the  little  porch,  cunningly  chose  Virginia  creep- 
ers, that  soon  covered  the  cottage,  and  made  it  as  brilliant 


OCTOBER.  243 

as  any  tree  of  the  forest  after  the  first  touch  of  frost. 
Never  a  blossom  was  found  nestling  in  her  hair,  so  far  as 
we  are  told,  but  they  clung  to  her  dress — accidentally,  of 
course.  Mild  reproof  proved  irksome  at  last,  and  her 
troubles  ended  by  marrying  out  of  meeting. 

Let  this  suffice  of  her,  this  Quaker  fairy,  as  she  was 
called,  save  casual  reference ;  and  what  now  of  the  rem- 
nant of  her  father's  garden  ?  Perhaps  not  a  tree  or  vine 
that  I  found  was  one  of  those  planted  one  hundred  and 
ninety  years  ago;  but  the  pear  may  have  been.  That 
pear  tree  is  beyond  description.  Once  it  was  a  stately 
growth,  perhaps  nearly  two  feet  in  diameter ;  now  a  mere 
fragment  of  a  hollow  trunk  is  left,  from  which  projects  a 
single  stunted  branch,  and  from  this  I  gathered  a  single, 
rotting  pear.  The  little  that  remained  of  it  at  all  edible 
was  evidence  that  in  its  day  the  Bishops  had  excellent 
fruit.  I  ate  that  morsel  with  closed  eyes,  and  sat  by  the 
fireside  of  the  Bishops  in  early  colonial  days.  Is  this  not 
happiness  enough  for  a  hazy,  dreamy  October  day? 

Three  grapes!  Small,  seedy,  and  sour,  yet  what  of 
that  ?  Whether  or  no  John  Bishop  planted  the  vine — for 
it  was  not  a  native  grape — some  one  had,  and  I  saw  the 
Quaker  fairy  gathering  fruit  as  I  plucked  the  three  wrink- 
led berries.  Their  bitterness  brought  tears  to  my  eyes, 
but  with  what  juice  they  had  I  drank  a  deep  draught  of 
that  cunning  wine  which  Jane  Bishop  well  knew  how  to 
make.  For  home-made  wine  was  then  as  much  a  neces- 
sity as  vinegar,  and  far  more  wholesome.  And  while  I 
struggled  with  the  mat  of  weeds,  hoping  to  trace  out  the 
narrow  path  edged  with  the  white  stones  "  dear  cousin 
William  gave  me,"  as  she  has  left  on  record,  I  found  the 
neck  of  a  small  glass  decanter.  It  was  well  buried  in  the 
soil  that  here  has  certainly  never  been  disturbed  since  the 
old  garden  was  abandoned.  How  vividly  the  old  side- 
board, a  remnant  of  which  I  cherish,  floated  into  space, 


244  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

and  the  living-room  of  the  old  stone  house  replaced  the 
garden  site,  while  I  stood  amid  the  weeds,  holding  a  bit  of 
broken  glass ! 

The  quince  proved  better  as  a  nosegay  than  as  fruit  to 
eat.  It  was  hard  beyond  safe  mastication,  but  the  fra- 
grance was  delicious.  How  sadly  changed  the  fruit  of 
that  tree  during  the  long  years  of  its  abandonment ! 
Plump  as  the  finest  apple  of  them  all,  as  deep  a  yellow  as 
the  orange  itself,  with  what  care  the  fruit  was  once  gath- 
ered and  prepared  for  winter  use !  A  dainty  that  set  well 
with  venison,  bear-steak,  and  pheasants ;  for  the  Bishops 
loved  good  living  then,  nor  accounted  a  well-appointed 
feast  one  of  life's  vanities.  Quince  jelly  was  their  boast, 
and  it  was  with  pride,  however  they  might  have  denied  it, 
that  they  saw  the  jelly  stand  alone  as  they  emptied  the 
cracked  cups  that  held  it.  Sugar  was  a  luxury  then,  and 
this  secret  of  their  jelly-making  died  with  the  thrifty 
Quakers  of  early  colonial  times. 

And  that  apple !  it  certainly  came  from  a  compara- 
tively young  tree  ;  for  there  be  none  that  have  weathered 
the  storms  of  well-nigh  two  centuries.  I  say  compara- 
tively young ;  the  tree  had  been  large,  and  was  now  but 
the  merest  ghost  of  its  former  self ;  perhaps  it  was  a  cent- 
ury ago  that  the  seed  was  planted ;  dropped  from  a  core 
thrown  down  by  one  of  the  fair  Jane  Bishop's  children, 
it  may  be.  The  tree  stood  too  near  the  "  pebble-edged  " 
path,  I  think,  to  have  been  intentionally  planted. 

Apple  orchards  were  one  of  the  features  of  Indian 
farming  about  here,  and  the  juice  of  the  fruit  was  no 
novelty  to  the  earliest  English  settlers.  Thrifty  old  Mah- 
lon  Stacy  wrote  from  near  here,  in  1680 :  "  I  have  seen 
orchards  laden  with  fruit  to  admiration,  their  very  limbs 
torn  to  pieces  with  the  weight,  and  most  delicious  to  the 
taste,  and  lovely  to  behold.  I  have  seen  an  apple  tree 
from  a  pippin-kernel  yield  a  barrel  of  curious  cyder."  He 


OCTOBER.  245 

who  could  write  this  thought  well  of  his  stomach,  and  how 
was  the  cider  "  curious,"  one  wonders  ?  Was  it  so  tickling 
to  his  palate  that  he  felt  "  curious  "  ?  Well,  let  us  hope 
not ;  but  such  a  thing  was  not  so  dreadful  then  as  now. 

How  diligently  I  searched  for  traces  of  those  wild 
flowers  that  Jane  and  her  sister  gathered  "  from  the  ad- 
joining woods  " !  It  was  only  one  hundred  and  eighty-five 
years  ago  that  they  were  here,  and  a  bit  of  that  old  forest 
still  remains.  Every  flower  that  I  found  now — asters  and 
golden-rods  only — I  fancied  spring  blossoms,  and  direct  de- 
scendants of  those  she  mentioned.  It  was  child's  play,  I 
know ;  a  game  of  making  believe — but  what  of  that  ?  If 
one  would  indulge  in  retrospection  of  a  dreamy,  hazy 
October  day,  he  must  not  stick  too  closely  to  the  naked 
fact.  I  had  wandered  along  the  hill,  at  first  without  a 
purpose ;  then  to  locate  the  old  garden,  if  I  could ;  this 
done,  had  I  not  earned  the  right  to  play  I  was  of  an  earlier 
time — an  inhabitant  of  this  degenerated  locality  in  its 
happy,  long-gone,  early  colonial  days  ? 

Kick  as  vigorously  as  he  may,  if  one  does  not  dress 
conformably  to  the  custom  of  his  station  he  must  pay 
a  social  penalty  of  no  light  severity.  It  is  different  when 
beyond  town  limits ;  but  here  let  me  disclaim  all  intention 
of  advocating  carelessness.  He  who  assumes  to  be  wholly 
independent  of  custom  in  such  matters  gains  absolutely 
nothing,  and  risks  a  good  deal. 

What  may  be  worn  in  the  country  comes  under  the 
headings — worn  in  the  field,  and  in  the  house.  A  success- 
ful outing  becomes  practicable  when  the  subject  of  cloth- 
ing is  farthest  from  our  thoughts,  yet  if  at  all  inappropri- 
ate it  will  enforce  itself  upon  your  attention  continually. 
Stuffs  that  adhering  matters  will  not  injure,  cut  to  fit  you 
accurately,  cover  the  whole  ground  ;  with  such  a  suiting  go 
stout  boots.  Clad  thus,  when  in  the  field,  one  is  in  full 


246  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

dress ;  but  when  the  day's  jaunt  is  over,  if  we  return  to 
the  house  instead  of  camping  out,  every  stitcli  of  such  a 
suit  is  a  dead  weight,  and  boots  are  little  better  than  a  ball 
and  chain. 

It  is  nothing  but  affectation  to  carry  the  ways  of  the 
woods  and  marshes  to  the  house.  In  early  colonial  days, 
when  cloth  was  scarce,  it  may  have  been  necessary,  but  not 
so  now.  The  most  enthusiastic  rambler  has  no  excuse  for 
bringing  wet  boots  to  the  library  andirons.  In  gown  and 
slippers  he  can  prove  the  most  delightful  of  companions, 
but  as  a  mud-bespattered  mortal,  indoors,  is  little  less  than 
a  nuisance. 

Such  thoughts  came  well-nigh  spoiling  a  recent  out- 
ing, and  not  until  I  had  had  my  growl  could  I  attempt 
the  narration  of  groping  in  a  fog. 

It  is  a  common  practice  to  pronounce  a  rainy  day  a 
dismal  one,  and  to  suppose  all  the  world  is  of  your  way 
of  thinking.  This  is  quite  untrue,  and  the  question  of 
clothing  settled,  a  walk  in  a  rain  is  really  delightful.  It 
is  quite  practicable  now,  for  weather-proof  stuffs  are 
readily  obtained  that  defy  the  rambler's  arch  enemy,  rheu- 
matism. 

Very  recently  a  fog,  a  Scotch  mist,  and  the  ragged  edge 
of  a  northeast  storm  came  arm  in  arm  up  the  river,  and 
picnicked  on  the  meadows.  From  the  upland  fields 
nothing  could  be  seen  of  the  low-lying  tract  but  the  tops 
of  the  tallest  trees.  So  dense  a  fog  I  had  never  seen  be- 
fore. Previous  to  its  arrival  birds  and  insects  had  been 
unusually  abundant;  now  nothing  was  to  be  seen  or 
heard.  This  roused  my  curiosity,  and  I  tested  water- 
proof clothing  at  the  same  time  as  I  took  a  well-worn 
path  to  the  pasture  meadow.  When  I  left  the  last  tree  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  I  was  completely  at  sea,  so  far  as  my 
point  of  orientation  was  concerned.  I  might  as  well  have 
been  on  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  Instead  of  being  caught 


OCTOBER.  247 

up  I  was  held  down  in  a  cloud.  Space,  save  the  little 
grass-plot  at  my  feet,  was  shut  out.  Think  of  standing 
nowhere  on  a  bit  of  sod ! 

Such  were  the  fog- wrapped  meadows  yesterday.  Guess- 
ing the  direction,  I  struck  out,  but  never  knew  where  I 
was  until  some  familiar  object  solemnly  ushered  itself  into 
my  meager  range  of  vision.  The  silence  was  absolute  at 
first.  Even  the  adhering  drops  that  I  brushed  from  the 
taller  grass  and  bushes  rolled  noiselessly  to  the  ground. 
The  sound  of  my  own  footsteps  was  muffled  and  borne 
earthward  before  it  reached  me.  Passing  on,  the  density 
of  the  vapor  was  somewhat  less  pronounced,  and  faint 
sounds  came  from  many  directions,  but  none  was  dis- 
tinguishable. Finally  I  saw  a  song-sparrow  scarcely  an 
arm's  length  away.  It  made  no  attempt  to  fly,  but  drop- 
ping from  the  bush  hopped  off  into  fog- wrapped  space. 
Reaching  the  marshes,  I  found  the  little  rail  birds  happy. 
They  cackled  more  loudly  and  incessantly  than  ever  be- 
fore, but  I  saw  none.  Skirting  the  marsh,  for  I  now  had 
a  clew  to  my  whereabouts,  I  passed  to  my  neighbor's  past- 
ure, when  a  curious  sound,  one  wholly  new  to  me,  was 
heard.  To  learn  its  origin  became  an  interesting  prob- 
lem, and  I  strove  to  proceed  in  the  apparent  direction  of 
the  sound's  course.  This  was  no  easy  matter,  and  whether 
I  was  going  east  or  west  soon  became  a  question  I  could 
not  answer;  but  the  strange  noise  never  ceased,  and  I 
kept  on.  Suddenly  a  familiar  clump  of  bushes  was  dimly 
outlined  before  me,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  near  the  rail- 
road. Not  a  safe  place  certainly,  but  I  followed  the  track 
without  walking  upon  it.  The  low  cat-like  cry  as  of 
an  animal  in  distress,  so  the  strange  sound  now  seemed, 
was  still  heard,  and  appeared  to  come  from  the  direction 
in  which  I  was  going.  I  was  delighted  at  my  success, 
and  felt  sure  of  being  on  the  eve  of  a  discovery.  What 
that  feeling  is  the  rambler  well  knows.  Then  the  sound 


218  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

ceased,  and  I  was  baffled  and  angry.  Should  I  go  on  ? 
I  asked  myself  a  dozen  times,  and  while  in  doubt  it  re- 
commenced. I  hurried  forward,  and  a  huge  black  mass 
stood  up  before  me.  What  could  it  be?  I  stared  and 
listened,  then  stepped  forward,  and  the  mass  took  shape. 
I  was  facing  a  locomotive  on  a  side  track.  The  wheezy 
escaping  of  steam  was  the  strange  sound  that  had  lured 
me  over  fog-bound  meadows. 

As  the  sun  rose  yesterday  there  came  with  it  a  dainty 
film  of  cloud,  that  by  noon  had  thickened  and  shut  out 
the  sky ;  later,  a  faint  murmur  only  the  trained  ear  could 
catch  filled  the  dark  pine  trees'  lofty  tops,  telling  a  secret 
to  the  favored  few.  So  I  gathered  firewood  to  the  music 
of  peeping  hylas  and  whistling  white-throats,  knowing 
full  well  the  storm  was  on  its  way.  The  sun  set,  without 
a  sign,  three  hours  ago,  and  the  steady  trickle  and  drip 
from  the  trees  and  the  low  eaves  of  the  cottage  tell  their 
own  story — October's  northeast  storm  has  come  at  last. 

I  know  not  what  others  may  be  doing,  cooped  in  the 
burned  air  of  their  furnace-heated  houses ;  but  what  so 
fitting  on  such  nights  as  these  as  facing  the  andirons  ? 
The  fire  is  not  really  needed  for  its  warmth,  but  is  wel- 
come as  the  inspirer  of  pleasant  fancy.  It  is  too  se- 
ductive for  the  student,  for  the  hours  prove  as  light- 
footed  as  the  flickering  flames;  but  for  idle  whim  or 
retrospection,  a  crackling  blaze  upon  the  andirons  has  no 
equal. 

Safe  from  the  storm  without,  I  still  think  of  the  happy 
creatures  I  met  while  gathering  wood.  Where  are  they 
now?  They  need  a  shelter  quite  as  much  as  man.  If 
they  had  yesterday  an  inkling  of  what  was  coming  they 
heeded  it  not,  and  until  afternoon  to-day  the  squirrels 
barked,  the  birds  sang,  the  hylas  peeped,  the  green  frogs 
croaked.  Even  the  south-bound  warblers  were  not  mute, 


OCTOBER.  24-9 

and  many  a  one  chirped  so  cheerily  it  reached  the  border- 
land of  song. 

The  squirrels,  the  tree-toads,  and  the  frogs  are  well 
provided  for ;  but  what  of  the  many  birds  abroad  to-night  ? 
The  last  one  that  I  saw  was  a  grass-finch  that  flew  up  from 
the  deep  ruts  in  the  lane  and  darted  into  the  high  weeds. 
As  they  shun  the  trees  and  do  not  dig  caves,  where  do 
they  go  ?  It  is  raining  so  hard  now  the  grass  and  weeds 
will  be  soaked ;  yet  at  daybreak,  if  the  storm  be  over, 
they  will  be  abroad,  chirping  a  little,  and  active  as 
crickets. 

I  remember  one  fearful  February  day,  cold  as  Green- 
land and  blowing  a  gale,  when  many  birds  took  refuge 
in  the  overhanging  banks  of  a  ravine ;  I  knew  that  car- 
dinal redbirds  will  seek  the  shelter  of  a  hollow  tree,  and 
bluebirds  gather  where  the  densest  cedars  grow ;  but  still 
the  great  problem  is  yet  to  be  solved  of  where  and  how 
birds  find  shelter  from  the  storms.  Sparrows  and  thrushes 
remain  abroad  until  the  storm  is  really  here,  and  reappear 
so  promptly  at  its  close  that  it  is  hard  to  believe  they 
suddenly  speed  away  to  the  outer  edge  of  its  path,  and  so 
escape  its  severity.  To  find  dead  or  disabled  birds  after 
a  wild  night  is  not  usual,  but  happens  frequently  enough 
to  convince  one  that  the  great  bulk  of  every  species  have 
suitable  shelter  in  mind  to  which  they  can  resort  when 
necessary.  I  have  long  hoped  to  come  across  such  places, 
and  searched  diligently,  but  not  with  much  success. 
Some  of  the  ways  of  birds  are  still  a  mystery,  but  I  am  not 
disposed  to  believe  they  are  past  finding  out. 

The  wind  is  rising.  The  angry  blast  that  tugs  at  the 
fastened  shutter  screams  shrilly  in  its  rage,  and  at  last 
finds  entrance  through  some  petty  cranny  that  I  knew 
nothing  of.  With  what  fiendish  delight  it  pounces  upon 
my  shoulders,  and  sends  a  chill  to  the  very  marrow !  It 


250  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

matters  not  that  the  fire  burns  with  renewed  vigor  ;  there 
is  little  comfort  in  a  blistered  face  while  your  shoulders 
ache  with  cold.  How  I  long  for  the  high-backed  settle 
that  graced  the  kitchen  fire-place  forty  years  ago !  Then 
you  could  snap  your  fingers  at  the  wind  though  it  blew 
a  hurricane;  now  you  are  largely  at  the  east  wind's 
mercy. 

Find  the  pin-hole  through  which  the  monster  rushes 
before  resuming  work  or  play.  Shut  it  out,  or,  though 
you  were  soaring  afar  off  in  the  realms  of  fancy,  you  will 
be  brought  back  ingloriously  to  the  level  of  plain  prose. 
When  finally  I  had  guarded  my  fort  against  another 
such  assault  of  the  wind  fiends,  I  placed  the  remaining 
stick  upon  the  andirons — a  gnarly,  hollow,  twisted  knot 
of  oak — and  settled  to  an  hour  of  retrospection ;  but  the 
men  and  women  of  colonial  times  were  not  called  up,  as  I 
had  hoped.  Instead,  a  redbacked  salamander  trotted  from 
that  last  stick,  and  in  blank  astonishment  stared  at  the 
fire  and  then  darted  toward  me.  The  fender  checked  it, 
and  it  became  frantic.  I  gave  it  full  liberty  as  promptly 
as  I  could,  and  now  it  is  cowering  in  a  far  corner.  When 
fumbling  among  the  books  piled  there  I  shall  one  day 
find  its  shriveled  skin,  but  I  need  not  search  for  it  now 
that  its  history  may  be  written. 

Spiders,  centipedes,  beetles,  and 'such  small  deer  have 
often  crawled  from  the  rough  wood  that  I  gather  along 
the  hill-side,  and  once  a  mouse  crept  from  a  stump  I 
dragged  from  the  meadows  after  a  freshet ;  but  never  be- 
fore a  salamander.  If  this  was  a  common  occurrence  in 
days  of  yore,  no  wonder  that  these  creatures  should  have 
been  held  in  horror  by  the  good  folks  of  colonial  times, 
especially  if  their  only  knowledge  of  them  came  in  such  a 
way,  which  is  scarcely  possible.  At  any  rate,  this  horror 
at  length  took  shape  in  the  belief  that  salamanders  were 
bred  in  the  fire,  and  another  phase  of  it  was  that  too  long 


OCTOBER.  251 

continued  fires  upon  the  hearth  would  cause  the  house  to 
overrun  with  them.  Of  course,  too,  they  were  thought  be 
to  be  venomous.  The  ignorance  and  superstition  of  two 
centuries  ago  was  something  marvelous,  and  it  is  scarcely 
less  strange  that  until  to-day  even  ignorance  of  our 
commonest  forms  of  life  is  the  rule  rather  than  the  ex- 
ception. 

Whatever  the  origin  of  salamandrine  myths,  they  were 
more  than  myth  to  our  ancestors ;  and  how  my  grand- 
father would  laugh  as  he  told  the  following,  which  doubt- 
less has  been  told  in  many  a  hundred  families  in  the 
land: 

A  long  and  bitterly  cold  night  was  succeeded  by  the 
coldest  day  of  the  winter.  After  much  hesitation,  rheu- 
matic Uncle  Natty  Olden,  a  man  with  not  the  sweetest 
temper  in  the  world,  arose,  and  hurried  to  the  forbidding- 
looking  hearth  to  see  how  the  coals  had  kept  through 
the  night.  They  had  not  kept  well.  From  the  cold  gray 
ashes  a  few  were  raked,  and  with  numb  fingers  he  gathered 
them  together,  and  endeavored  to  start  a  blaze  with 
the  light  kindling  he  had  prepared  the  night  before. 
But  the  fates  were  against  him,  and  the  snow  that  drifted 
down  the  chimney  had  dampened  them.  Crouching  on 
all  fours,  he  blew  upon  the  coals,  rearranged  the  splinters, 
blew  again,  and  interlarded  all  with  ominous  grumblings. 
He  had  known  happier  moments.  At  last,  a  flickering 
flame  shot  up,  and  then  another  and  another,  and  a  cheer- 
ful blaze  was  about  to  reward  his  labors.  At  that  moment 
there  came  a  thundering  knock  at  the  door,  and  the 
prompt  "  Who's  there  ? "  brought  reply  from  Jemmy 
Cumberford.  Knowing  the  voice,  Uncle  Natty  unbarred 
the  door,  and  Jemmy  stalked  into  the  dimly  lighted 
kitchen  and  stood  for  a  moment  before  the  fire;  then 
seizing  the  piggin  on  the  bench,  he  dashed  the  water  it 
contained  upon  the  hearth,  extinguishing  every  trace  of 


252  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

blaze,  and  said  to  Uncle  Natty,  "  Your  fire's  so  old  it'll 
breed  salamanders." 

The  row  that  morning  between  these  men  the  reader 
can  imagine.  For  myself,  I  love  old  furniture,  old  ways, 
and  to  revel  in  thoughts  of  old  times,  but  am  duly  thank- 
ful lucifer  matches  were  invented  when  they  were. 

There  have  been  several  nipping  frosts  already,  and 
now  the  cold  gray  sky  threatens  rain.  Under  the  oaks 
there  is  naught  but  gloomy  silence — 

"  The  very  birds  are  mute, 
Or,  if  they  sing,  'tis  with  so  dull  a  cheer 
The  leaves  look  pale,  dreading  the  winter's  near." 

And  well  they  may,  for  soon  the  shortening  days  will 
bring  a  northern  blast  that  shall  strip  bare  the  trees ;  the 
winding  woodpath  will  be  hidden,  and  the  moss-grown 
roots — great  wooden  serpents,  harshly  kinked  and  curled 
— will  be  lost;  the  scattered  birds'-nests  in  the  leafless 
thicket  stand  out  in  melancholy  array,  a  deserted  village. 
A  new  world  is  open  now  to  the  rambler ;  but  let  him 
take  heed  lest  his  thoughts  be  of  what  has  been  and  not 
of  what  is.  It  is  a  too  common  error. 

There  are  many  compensations  for  the  want  of  leaves. 
The  showy  dogwood  that  this  year  blossomed  before  the 
snow-banks  of  the  great  March  storm  had  melted,  offers 
berries  of  the  brightest  crimson  in  their  place.  The  fruit- 
laden  alder  glows  as  a  cloud  of  fire ;  but  turning  from  these 
last  brilliant  gifts  of  the  dying  year,  let  us  take  up  a  hum- 
bler theme.  I  love  to  gather  acorns.  I  learned  to  love  them 
many  a  year  ago,  when,  daftly  transforming  them  into  cups 
and  saucers,  I  dealt  out  tea  to  others,  fun-loving  as  myself. 
Such  retrospection  is  too  sad  to  be  courted  now,  but 
every  acorn  that  I  gather  summons  a  picture  that  but 
slowly  fades. 


OCTOBER.  253 

A  half-dozen  or  more  species  of  oaks  that  either  cluster 
on  the  hill-side  or  are  scattered  over  the  meadows  provide 
acorns  of  as  many  patterns,  but  all  are,  of  course,  distinct- 
ively that  fruit.  One  can  not  mistake  the  acorn  for  any 
other  nut,  as  he  might  the  leaves  of  the  tree  that  bore  it. 
Those  of  one  species  are  like  the  chestnut's  foliage ;  an- 
other's is  like  that  of  the  willow.  Of  the  various  shapes, 
colors,  and  sizes,  I  prefer  the  pretty  marbled  fruit  of  the 
chestnut  oak,  which  is  usually  as  richly  colored  as  the 
asters  and  golden-rods  upon  which  it  falls.  Why  I  gather 
them,  often  until  my  pockets  overflow,  I  can  not  tell ;  but 
as  I  look  upon  them  they  appear  such  goodly  nuts  that 
none  should  go  to  waste ;  and  yet,  of  all  tree-products, 
none  seem  so  neglected — so  without  a  purpose,  here,  at 
home.  Unlike  the  chincapin  or  hazel-nut,  they  can  not 
be  eaten ;  at  least,  I  have  yet  to  find  a  person  who  owns  to 
eating  them ;  and  not  one  in  thousands,  if  it  sprouts,  be- 
comes even  a  sapling ;  not  one  in  a  million  reaches  to  the 
dignity  of  an  oak  tree. 

Are  acorns  bitter  or  sweet  according  to  the  soil  upon 
which  they  grow?  I  am  surprised  to  find  any  of  them 
asserted  to  be  edible,  in  Gray's  Manual.  Here  they  are 
disgustingly  bitter ;  or  are  we  overnice,  because  of  having 
such  an  abundance  of  sweeter  nuts  ?  I  have  called  them 
a  "  neglected  "  nut,  and  so  they  really  seem.  Nor  mice 
nor  squirrels  care  for  them  while  other  food  lasts.  I  have 
found  untouched  hoards  of  acorns  that  squirrels  had 
gathered,  but  left  because  the  shell-barks  also  stored  had 
proved  sufficient.  And  yet  I  have  seen  squirrels  bury 
them  with  care,  as  though  foreseeing  their  needs,  and 
planting  an  oak  for  their  indefinitely  great  grandchildren. 
I  do  not  suppose  a  squirrel  proposes  to  disinter  the  nuts  it 
hides  singly  in  the  ground  and  use  them  as  food.  A 
mammal  with  such  an  extraordinary  memory  would  soon 
cease  to  be  a  mere  mammal  by  reason  of  it.  It  is,  per- 


254:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

haps,  as  hard  to  believe  that  it  plants  the  acorn  that  a  tree 
may  grow.  Why  it  does  it  is  a  problem  yet  to  be  solved. 
It  may  have  no  connection  with  the  hoarding  of  many 
nuts  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree,  the  purpose  of  which  is  un- 
mistakable. Is  it  a  survival  of  a  habit  established  in  an 
earlier  geological  epoch  ? 

Birds  are  said  to  eat  them,  but  this  is  a  rare  occur- 

frence  here,  I  am  sure.  The  blue  jay  is  said  to  hoard  them 
fc>r  winter  use.l?)  I  have  never  seen  any  evidence  of  this, 

;but  have  known  these  birds  to  feed  upon  beechnuts  and 
chincapins.  These  latter  nuts,  however,  do  not  appear 
ever  to  be  stored  away,  in  this  neighborhood,  by  the  jays. 
Life  higher  in  the  scale  than  the  larvae  of  insects,  it 
would  seem,  practically  ignores  the  acorn.  It  appears, 
therefore,  to  be  a  fruit  born  under  a  lucky  star,  but  is  it  ? 
Plant  one  and  be  you  ever  so  careful  the  chances  are 
slim  that  you  will  possess  an  oak.  As  a  twig  with  two 
leaves  it  is  full  of  promise ;  but  there,  alas !  the  matter 
ends.  The  upstart  weeds  of  April  crowd  them  to  the 
wall.  An  infant  oak  shrinks  to  fatal  obscurity  beneath 
the  shadow  of  a  bramble.  But  should  Fortune  smile  upon 
the  timid  growth  and  saplinghood  be  reached,  then  prac- 
tically all  danger  is  passed,  and  a  perfect  oak  is  promised 
to  the  succeeding  century.  Until  at  least  one  hundred 
years  old  the  tree  is  incomplete,  however  symmetrical  its 
branches  or  stately  its  general  mien.  The  solid,  gnarly 
limb ;  the  wide-spreading  crown,  in  outline  almost  a  globe  ; 
the  deeply  wrinkled  bark ;  the  twisted  roots  above  the  sod 
and  mossy  nooks  between  them;  these  are  not  features 
of  a  growing  tree,  but  of  the  completed  growth. 

It  is  an  ideal  forest  where  these  trees  are  grouped,  and 
pleasure  enough  for  a  day's  ramble  to  meet  with  even  one 
such  tree.  Oak  forests  are  features  of  the  past,  and  when 
we  come  to  deal  with  dry  statistics  the  number  of  really 
fine  old  oaks  scattered  over  the  country  is  painfully  small. 


OCTOBER.  255 

Happy  is  he  who  can  lead  his  friend  to  a  dozen  in  a 
day's  walk.  Let  me  not  be  misunderstood.  I  do  not  re- 
fer to  oak  trees  merely,  but  to  matured  oaks — trees  from 
one  to  four  or  five  centuries  old.  At  present  I  know  of 
but  one,  to  which  I  have  already  referred,  and  it  is  per- 
fect. 

Two  hundred  years  ago  it  was  vigorous  and  large, 
and  was  spared  for  the  goodly  shade  it  gave,  when,  in 
1690,  the  Crosswicks  meeting-house  was  built.  Five 
generations  of  my  kin  have  gathered  beneath  its  wide- 
spreading  branches,  and  whenever  I  chance  to  pass  that 
way  I  long  to  know  the  wealth  of  secrets  locked  in  its 
speechless  heart.  In  the  traditions  of  half  a  score  of 
families  that  I  could  name  this  old  oak  prominently 
figures.  It  has  been  the  silent  witness  of  mild  tragedy 
and  harmless  comedy  from  generation  to  generation. 
Eye  has  met  eye,  and  hand  clasped  hand  beneath  this 
tree,  that  so  doing  sealed  the  happiness  of  many  an  anx- 
ious heart.  Under  the  Crosswicks  oak  to-day  the  past 
and  present  mingle.  Time  hath  wrought  few  changes 
save  in  those  who  come  and  go.  Were  the  Friends  who 
worshiped  here  two  centuries  ago  to  return  to  earth, 
they  would  know  the  meeting-house  they  built,  and  this 
noble  oak  beside  it. 

There  are  several  pin-oaks  in  the  home  meadows  of 
which  I  never  tire.  Three  that  shade  a  dozen  rods  of  a 
pretty  brook  are  giants  of  their  race,  and  gathered  near 
are  all  the  glories  of  October.  To  explore  these  trees  is  to 
learn  much  of  the  wild  life  of  the  neighborhood,  for 
squirrels,  oppossums,  and  occasionally  a  coon,  harbor  in  the 
hollows  of  their  trunks  or  find  security  in  the  wilderness 
of  their  close-set  limbs;  mice  safely  tunnel  among  the 
tangled  roots ;  birds  nest  in  the  tree  in  summer,  as  well 
as  rest  in  it  throughout  the  year.  From  its  topmost 
twig  the  sentinel  crow  announces  the  danger,  if  any,  to 


256  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

its  weed-hidden  followers  in  the  marsh ;  and  a  red-letter 
day  is  that  when  an  eagle  deigns  to  spend  a  few  hours  on 
the  meadows,  making  the  largest  of  those  pin-oaks  his 
resting  place.  His  presence  is  only  submitted  to  under 
!  very  audible  protest  by  the  resident  birds.  Particularly  if 
it  be  spring  or  early  summer,  the  crows  and  king-birds  are 
not  only  very  outspoken,  but  follow  the  words  with  blows. 
I  have  seen  a  thoroughly  organized  band  of  crows  attack 
an  eagle  and  cause  him  to  retire.  The  dauntless  king- 
bird does  not  hesitate  to  rise  above  and  pounce  down  upon 
the  eagle's  back  so  long  as  the  latter  remains  compara- 
tively near  the  ground,  but  the  fearless  fly-catcher  can 
not  follow  when  the  eagle  soars  to  any  great  elevation. 

Throughout  October,  unless  storm-beaten,  the  leaves 
and  acorns  drop  but  slowly,  and  there  is  often  dense  shade 
beneath  these  pin- oaks  during  November's  half -mythical 
Indian  summer.  As  yet,  there  is  no  change ;  leaves  and 
fruit  are  still  stem-bound,  although  the  month  is  near  its 
close.  But  elsewhere,  a  mighty  change  has  been  effected, 
and  the  richness  of  color  scattered  along  the  hill-side  is 
something  marvelous.  When  the  meadows,  in  Septem- 
ber, were  purple  with  Vernonia  and  the  brookside  golden 
with  Helenium,  the  limit  of  gorgeous  display  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  reached,  but  how  it  pales  before  Octo- 
ber's tinted  leaves !  If  the  meadows  were  grand  in  Sep- 
tember the  adjoining  hill-side  is  fairly  dazzling  now.  The 
little  forest  has  caught  the  trick  of  the  sunset,  and  glows 
at  the  season's  setting  with  all  the  glory  of  the  evening's 
western  sky. 

But  the  wind  is  rising.  The  robins  chatter,  the  king- 
lets scold,  and  many  a  warbler  hurries  from  the  oaks  as  if 
it  feared  the  shower  of  leaves  and  acorns  that  fills  the  air. 
In  such  a  shower,  I  am  all  eagerness  to  stand  and  catch  at 
the  listless  leaves  that  seem  never  ready  to  quite  touch  the 
ground.  The  acorns  that  fall  at  such  a  time  are  really  few 


OCTOBER.  257 

in  number.  I  do  not  remember  ever  being  struck  by  one, 
al though  to  lie  under  the  tree,  face  upward,  and  watch 
the  fluttering  leaves,  is  a  favorite  pastime.  It  is  the  sharp 
clatter  upon  the  heaped  up  leaves,  or  dull  thud  as  they 
strike  the  yielding  moss,  that  gives  a  contrary  impression ; 
and  generally,  although  so  often  forewarned,  I  look  to  see 
the  ground  covered ;  when,  in  fact,  sharp  eyes  are  needed 
to  find  the  few  that  fell. 

It  may  not  have  occurred  to  ramblers  generally,  but  to 
lie  upon  one's  back  and  study  a  tree-top,  and  particularly 
an  old  oak  while  in  this  position,  has  many  advantages. 
If  not  so  markedly  so  in  October  as  in  June,  still  the 
average  tree-top  is  a  busy  place,  though  you  might  not 
expect  it,  judged  by  the  ordinary  methods  of  observation. 
If  you  simply  stand  beneath  the  branches  of  a  tree  or 
climb  into  them,  you  are  too  apt  to  be  looked  upon  as  an 
intruder.  If  you  lie  down  and  watch  the  play — often  a 
tragedy — with  a  good  glass,  you  will  certainly  be  rewarded ; 
and,  not  least  of  all,  you  can  take  your  departure  without 
some  one  or  more  of  your  muscles  being  painful  from  too 
long  use.  If  the  tree-top  life  deigns  to  consider  you  at  all 
when  you  are  flat  upon  your  back,  it  will  count  you  merely 
as  a  harmless  freak  of  Nature. 

Often  have  I  been  fairly  startled  by  the  boldness  of 
migrating  warblers  that  came  to  the  lowermost  twigs  and 
then  scanned  me  closely  as  though  I  too  might  prove  good 
feeding-ground.  I  have  expected,  more  than  once,  that 
the  birds  would  alight  upon  me,  but  as  yet  they  have  only 
come  very  near  to  doing  so. 

I  have  often  been  asked  which  of  our  wild  birds  is  the 
tamest.  All  seem  tame  enough  to  me,  but  the  two  which 
have  appeared  the  most  indifferent  to  my  presence  are  the 
brown  tree-creeper  and  the  black  and  white  tree-creeping 
warbler.  Only  recently,  while  gathering  acorns  under 
the  big  pin-oaks,  I  had  them  come  within  reach  of  my 
17 


258  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

cane ;  and  in  fact  they  usually  do  so  ;  but  when  to  watch 
other  birds  I  have  been  lying  beneath  the  tree  where  its 
limbs  nearly  touch  the  ground,  they  have  come  as  near  as 
possible,  without  leaving  the  tree's  trunk,  around  which 
they  ran.  Often  I  have  tried  to  catch  with  my  hands  the 
brown  tree-creeper,  but  it  always  kept  just  out  of  reach. 
Unless  I  was  too  demonstrative,  it  would  seldom  fly.  The 
creeping  warbler  is  not  quite  so  tame,  yet  I  have  many 
times  marveled  at  its  fearlessness ;  particularly  during  cool 
October  days,  when  it  seemed  more  intent  upon  food- 
gathering  than  its  personal  safety. 

A  circumstance,  itself  of  little  moment,  held  me,  not 
long  since,  until  a  one-act  comedy  was  performed.  My 
readers  will  agree  that  one  spectator  was  enough.  For 
some  time  I  had  been  gazing  skyward  from  the  ground 
beneath  an  oak.  Its  widespread,  labyrinthine  top  was 
silent  for  a  time,  and  if  I  did  not  fall  quite  asleep,  I  at 
least  had  but  a  confused  idea  of  my  whereabouts,  and  the 
dropping  of  an  acorn,  falling  very  near  my  head,  did  not 
arouse  me ;  but  soon  another  and  another  came  in  quick 
succession,  and  I  was  at  last  aware  of  being  in  the  line  of 
some  busy  squirrel,  or  jay,  perhaps,  overhead.  I  could  not 
see  the  acorn-plucking  creature,  and  somewhat  curious 
about  it,  awaited  developments  with  my  eyes  widely  open. 
Presently  a  flock  of  noisy  robins  came  from  behind  me, 
and  alighting  in  the  oak  I  forgot  the  dropping  acorns  as 
I  listened  to  them.  Then  I  heard,  but  could  not  see,  a 
flock  of  redwings  that  came  from  over  the  creek  and 
rested  in  the  same  old  oak.  Their  voices  with  those  of 
the  robins  filled  the  air  with  music,  and  I  was  charmed  as 
I  watched  and  listened,  lying  flat  upon  my  back — but  sud- 
denly all  were  silent,  and  then,  like  a  flash  of  light,  red- 
wings and  robins  together  beat  a  precipitate  retreat  with 
a  pigeon- hawk  in  pursuit,  darting  earthward  and  outward 
over  the  meadow  and  directly  over  me. 


OCTOBER.  259 

So  far,  a  tragedy  rather ;  but  there  is  yet  more  to  tell. 
I  was  directly  in  the  track  of  these  frightened  birds,  and 
to  the  cathartic  effects  of  fear  I  am  ready  to  testify. 

For  the  moment  I  thought  it  more,  but  it  was,  in  fact, 
but  a  trivial  matter,  although  I  do  not  care  to  have  it  re- 
peated ;  and  now,  while  I  write,  I  am  ready  again,  weather 
permitting,  to  lie  under  the  oaks,  or  to  wander  beneath 
their  outreaching  branches  and  fill  my  pockets  with 
acorns. 


CHAPTER  XL 

NOVEMBER. 

THE  change  of  the  landscape's  prevailing  tint  from 
green  to  brown  is  not  a  cheerful  one.  Look  wheresoever 
one  may,  he  is  pretty  sure,  in  November,  to  drift  into  a 
brown  study,  and  this  is  seldom  exhilarating. 

"  Whither  shall  I  wander  ?  "  has  been  the  initial  ques- 
tion of  each  available  day,  and  now,  a  goodly  portion  of 
the  month  having  passed,  I  find  my  note-books  recording, 
to  describe  it  somewhat  figuratively,  the  fact  that  my 
home  has  been  the  wheel's  hub  and  my  daily  routes  a  se- 
ries of  closely  set  spokes.  The  dreary,  lifeless,  and  repel- 
lent features  of  many  a  ramble  had  better  be  passed  by  in 
silence.  Winter's  skirmishers,  the  white  frosts,  have 
strewed  many  a  field  with  dead  flowers,  and  who  cares  to 
crush  their  bleached  skeletons  at  every  step  ?  But  deflect- 
ing a  little  from  the  preceding  day's  course,  I  have  some- 
times avoided  these  sad  reminders  of  the  defeated  summer 
and  chanced  upon  sheltered  nooks  from  which  the  besieg- 
ing frosts  have  retired  discomfited.  One  such,  strange  as 
it  may  seem,  was  a  wide  reach  of  level  meadow  dotted, 
with  old  trees.  The  day  was  essentially  forbidding.  A 
gray  sky,  a  fog-patched  atmosphere,  and  a  fitful,  chilly 
breeze  that  smote  my  cheek  whichever  way  I  turned,  were 
discouraging  at  the  outset,  but  abundant  recompense 
awaited  me,  for  the  meadow  was  yet  beautiful,  green  as  in 
May,  and  rang  with  the  voices  of  a  thousand  forms  of  life. 


NOVEMBER.  261 

The  meadow-mice  held  high  carnival  in  their  grass-hidden 
runways;  the  birds  of  the  season,  best  equipped  of  all 
creatures  for  finding  where  summer  still  lingers,  had  con- 
gregated here.  Snakes  still  tarried,  although  the  nights 
are  cool,  and  insect-life  crowded  alike  the  trees,  shrubbery, 
and  sod,  singing  and  humming  without  appreciable  rest, 
and  above  all  I  heard  from  the  tangled  marsh  afar  off  a 
regretful  frog  twanging  his  unstrung  harp. 

Small  areas  of  such  cheerful  meadow  are  not  uncom- 
mon, and  during  November  and  all  through  the  winter 
they  are  a  source,  or  wonder.  A  sense  of  mystery  rests 
over  them.  An  acre,  or  perhaps  ten  or  more  of  living 
green,  surrounded  by  hundreds  of  lifeless  brown,  impresses 
every  one  who  sees  it.  At  least,  I  have  escaped  those  who 
could  pass  it  by  unheeded.  Abercromby,  in  his  volume 
on  weather,  remarks :  "  From  the  fact  that  frost  de- 
pends on  radiation,  we  can  readily  explain  why  cold  is  so 
local.  Radiation  is  very  sensitive;  the  least  breath  of 
wind  or  any  local  shelter  may  interfere  with  the  free  play 
of  radiation,  and  so  we  find  two  places  only  a  few  miles 
apart,  one  of  which  records  10°  or  15°  lower  than  the 
other." 

In  a  somewhat  similar,  if  not  precisely  the  same  way, 
the  home  meadows  differ  inter  se.  I  have  not  gone  to 
the  trouble  of  hanging  thermometers  at  different  points, 
and  tabulated  the  readings  of  a  given  hour,  but  the  nat- 
ural effect  of  a  difference  of  10°  or  15°  is  often  noticed 
between  two  meadow  tracts,  separated,  perhaps,  by  only  so 
slight  a  barrier  as  a  willow  hedge.  But  this  alone  can  not 
account  for  all  the  differences  we  find,  and  to  the  warming 
influence  of  a  wind-guard  must  be  added  the  condition  of 
the  soil,  the  amount  of  decomposition  of  vegetable  matter, 
and  the  elevation  above  tide- water.  Then  again,  many  a 
green  meadow  remains  so  throughout  the  winter,  because 
hardy  plants  have  replaced  less  vigorous  ones,  and  we 


2G2  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

have  many  growths  that  retain  their  chlorophyl  unaltered, 
even  though  subjected  to  actual  freezing. 

I  have  had  reference  only  to  such  tracts  as  could  be 
walked  over  in  safety ;  bat  the  same  difference  in  a  more 
marked  degree  is  noticeable  in  the  low-lying  wet  meadows 
which  are  often  scarcely  more  than  a  quaking  mass  of 
weeds  and  water,  often  many  feet  in  depth.  Summer 
lingers  among  these  tracts  in  direct  proportion  to  the 
abundance  of  bottom  springs.  I  have  been  long  familiar 
with  some  forty  acres  of  such  quaking  meadow,  or,  more 
properly,  marsh.  Three  years  ago  it  was  divided  by  a 
gravel  bank,  of  considerable  width,  that  rests  upon  the 
hard-pan,  and  prevents  the  commingling  of  the  water  on 
the  two  sides.  One  half  of  the  tract  remains  as  it  has 
always  been  ;  the  other  is  permanently  submerged  to  such 
a  depth  that  the  characteristic  vegetation  of  the  marsh 
has  been  killed.  It  is  most  instructive  to  walk  during 
the  winter  along  the  embankment.  Summer  lingers  in 
the  marsh ;  even  when  the  drowned  meadow  is  firmly 
frozen.  The  severest  weather  has  little  effect  upon  the 
unaltered  tract,  and  never  has  its  "  Seven  Spring  Corner  " 
been  glazed  with  ice.  As  a  consequence,  animal  life  is 
little  affected  where  the  warm  spring  water  keeps  the 
meadow  green ;  and  here  it  is  that,  in  the  matter  of  their 
habits,  the  many  forms  of  animals  living  in  this  marshy 
tract  contradict  the  statements  of  those  who  think  of  win- 
ter as  reducing  the  active  life  of  summer  to  comparative 
inactivity,  or  as  its  actual  destroyer.  The  destructive  ef- 
fects of  severe  cold  hold  largely  good,  of  course,  of  the  up- 
land ponds,  and  is  true,  now,  of  the  "  lake,"  as  my  neighbor 
calls  his  submerged  meadow,  but  it  is  not  applicable  to  the 
unaltered  marsh  that  adjoins  it.  If  the  startling  differ- 
ences sometimes  to  be  seen  between  adjoining  fields,  and 
more  frequently  between  contiguous  tracts  of  meadow,  had 
been  more  generally  noticed  by  out-of-door  students  of  an- 


NOVEMBER.  263 

imal  life,  dogmatic  statements  to  the  effect  that,  once  win- 
ter arrives,  life  flees  the  spot  or  retires  to  hibernacula, 
would  not  so  frequently  mar  the  pages  of  our  natural  his- 
tories. 

To  return  to  the  green  meadow  with  its  towering  trees, 
that  had  not  yet  acknowledged  the  sovereignty  of  winter. 
I  had  first  to  marvel  at  the  abundance  of  the  birds.  Their 
voices  filled  the  air,  yet  I  could  not  find  them.  Save  a 
brown  creeper  or  a  blue  nut-hatch,  not  a  feather  showed 
in  any  tree  nor  in  the  tangle  that  now  hid  the  treacherous 
barbed- wire  fence  through  which  I  had  had  to  struggle. 
As  I  progressed  in  my  too  eager  search,  I  finally  came, 
very  abruptly,  upon  the  congregated  songsters,  an  enor- 
mous flock  of  cowpen  birds.  These  are  small,  steel-blue 
blackbirds,  with  a  dozen  common  names  and  one  hideous 
scientific  one.  As  single  individuals,  they  excite  little 
interest,  and  their  best  efforts  at  singing  fall  far  short  of 
success ;  but  when  a  thousand  or  more  are  gathered  to- 
gether, their  united  voices  closely  verge  upon  melody, 
although  never  so  thrilling  as  is  a  chorus  of  ten  thousand 
redwings. 

Desirous  of  watching  these  birds  close  at  hand,  as  they 
ran  over  the  ground,  reminding  me  of  an  excited  colony 
of  ants,  I  approached  far  more  cautiously  than  I  had  been 
doing,  and  kept  my  hands  behind  me.  My  curiosity  in- 
creasing, I  attempted  to  approach  within  a  dozen  steps  of 
them,  and  so,  as  usual,  overstepped  the  mark.  The  birds 
nearest  me  arose,  each  with  a  warning  chirp,  and  in  a 
moment  the  broad  landscape  before  me  was  shut  from 
view.  Broader  and  higher  grew  this  solid  wall  of  birds, 
and  when  its  base  line  was  lifted  from  the  ground,  the 
curious  spectacle  of  a  retreating  hill  confronted  me ;  for  I 
can  liken  this  moving  mass  unto  nothing  else.  Suddenly 
caught  by  a  .passing  breeze,  more  quickly  than  it  had 
veiled  the  landscape,  the  flock  became  a  thin  sheet,  of 


264:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

which  I  could  see  but  a  ragged,  fluttering  edge.  Then, 
caught  by  the  wind,  each  bird  was  tilted  toward  me  for  an 
instant,  the  light  played  upon  its  back,  and  a  broad  sheet 
of  silver  floated  across  the  meadow,  settling  slowly  on  the 
leaf-strewed  sod  and  lost  to  view,  although  not  twenty 
rods  away. 

Piqued  by  my  failure  to  approach  as  closely  as  I  wished, 
I  made  a  second  attempt,  creeping  this  time  upon  my 
hands  and  knees  for  nearly  one  hundred  yards.  But  this 
again  was  illy  planned.  I  could  see  the  birds  at  times,  it 
was  true,  but  only  caught  the  most  aggravating  glimpses, 
and  learned  nothing,  except  that  the  same  extraordinary 
restlessness  possessed  them  that  I  had  previously  noticed. 
Tiring  soon  of  my  futile  efforts  to  learn  even  the  cause  of 
this,  I  arose  without  any  caution  and  stood  in  full  view, 
not  five  paces  distant.  Not  a  bird  noticed  me !  If  they 
saw  me  at  all,  I  was  mistaken  for  a  bush ;  but  I  gained 
one  point — I  saw  that  they  were  feeding  upon  insects. 
Kunning  forward  and  shouting  at  the  same  moment,  the 
whole  thousand  or  more  took  flight  as  one  bird,  drifting 
before  the  wind  like  the  autumn  leaves  that  mingled  with 
them,  over  and  beyond  the  adjoining  marshes. 

The  departing  cowpen  birds  did  not  leave  me  deserted ; 
but  the  contrast  for  a  time  suggested  solitude.  The  merry 
clatter  of  their  many  voices  still  rang  in  my  ears,  but  was 
gone  in  a  moment,  when  I  heard  the  sharp  "  peep  "  of 
Pickering's  hyla.  Perhaps  no  autumn  sound  is  so  gener- 
ally misinterpreted  as  this.  Few  people  in  this  region 
seem  to  know  that  so  small  a  tree-toad  exists,  and  most  of 
those  who  do,  attribute  its  shrill  call,  particularly  when 
heard  in  November,  to  a  bird.  It  is  not  a  strange  mis- 
take. The  familiar  tree-toad  of  summer  has  long  since 
been  silent,  or  practically  so  ;  and  then  we  never  associate 
him  with  November  and  the  leafless  tree-tops.  At  best, 
he  lives  among  the  lower  branches,  and  I,  for  one,  have 


NOVEMBER.  2G5 

never  found  them  at  any  great  distance  from  the  ground. 
Among  the  old  apple  trees  in  the  lane,  all  that  I  have  ever 
seen  have  been  nearer  the  ground  than  the  trees'  tops ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  dainty  little  yellow  tree-toad 
— Pickering's  hyla  of  the  naturalists — is  seldom  content 
with  so  humble  a  perch,  and  when  in  summer  they  quit 
their  aquatic  and  mud  life  for  an  arboreal  one,  they  often 
wander  to  the  very  highest  available  resting-places  in  the 
trees.  I  once  found  one  at  the  very  top  of  a  tulip  tree,  at 
least  sixty  feet  from  the  ground.  "  Peeping  "  shrilly  at 
such  an  elevation,  it  is  little  wonder  that  the  sound  should 
be  thought  to  be  the  whistling  of  a  bird. 

As  so  often  happens  at  the  close  of  a  dreary  autumn 
day,  the  sun  shone  then  with  peculiar  splendor.  For  a 
few  minutes  the  meadows  were  gilded  with  a  mellow  light 
that  brought  out  even  distant  objects  with  startling  dis- 
tinctness. Animal  life  at  once  responded  to  the  welcome 
change.  Rabbits  darted  from  their  forms,  squirrels  scam- 
pered through  the  trees,  and  mice  stood  up  above  their 
runways,  as  though  in  doubt  about  their  safety.  Many 
birds,  whose  presence  I  had  not  suspected,  began  to  sing, 
and  the  crows,  that  had  been  silently  seeking  their  roosts, 
abruptly  broke  ranks  and  clamored  at  the  strange  advent 
of  a  sunny  day.  Moping  herons  rose  from  the  rank 
growths  of  the  weedy  marshes,  sailed  in  the  gilded  air 
above  me,  crossed  and  recrossed  the  meadow  and  returned 
— their  sole  object  apparently  in  so  doing,  the  pleasure  of  a 
sun-bath.  And  beyond,  where  the  creek  shone  like  molten 
metal,  water-snakes,  roused  to  active  life  again,  left  behind 
them  tortuous  streaks  of  brilliant  light ;  while  everywhere, 
above,  beneath,  and  on  every  side,  rang  out  the  shrill  chirp 
of  the  restless  cricket.  Here,  in  this  still  green  meadow, 
summer  reigned.  Asters,  golden-rod,  violets  even,  and 
scattered  dandelions  acted  well  their  part.  I  had  but  to 
keep  the  leafless  trees  from  view,  and  it  was  June  again. 


266  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

The  landscape  from  any  comprehensive  point  of  view 
still  shows  a  wealth  of  foliage,  although  it  is  the  first  week 
of  November,  1887,  and  until  very  recently  it  was  neces- 
sary to  search  for  colored  leaves.  Here,  about  the  home 
meadows,  the  painting  of  the  woods  is  an  uncertain  occur- 
rence. The  frosts  of  October  dulled  the  freshness  of  the 
leaves  as  a  whole,  but  many  held  their  summer  hue  for 
weeks  after,  and  others  will  do  so  to  the  very  last,  and 
finally  turn  brown,  wither,  and  fall  in  wonderfully  quick 
succession,  the  whole  change  occurring  within  two  or 
three  days. 

There  are  always,  it  is  true,  maples,  liquidambars,  and 
Virginia  creepers  that  show  a  varied  range  of  red  and  yel- 
low— just  as  in  August  the  tupelo  turns  crimson — but 
these  make  up  but  a  small  part  of  the  woods. 

To-day  I  have  been  rambling  in  a  ravine  where  trickle 
the  waters  of  a  hundred  springs,  gathering  "autumnal 
leaves  that  strow  the  brook,"  and  I  culled  them  while 
standing  among  green  ferns,  fresh-leaved  privet,  and  in 
the  shade  of  white  oaks.  The  latter  will  retain  their  foli- 
age, although  crisp  and  brown,  until  the  coming  March 
winds  blow.  Indeed,  I  have  seen  them  cling  to  the 
branches  until  apparently  pushed  off  by  the  swelling  leaf- 
buds  of  the  new  year.  The  privet  will  be  green  until 
January  at  least,  and  sometimes  until  later ;  but  the  ferns 
are  quite  contradictory.  Last  winter  I  found  them  fresh 
as  a  May  morning  along  the  roadside,  and  in  an  exposed 
position,  yet  in  what  appeared  to  be  more  sheltered  spots 
the  same  species  in  October  had  withered  and  disap- 
peared. 

It  is  really  an  open  question  whether  or  not  the  frost 
kills  the  leaves  of  our  forest  trees,  or  is  the  cause  of  their 
changing  color ;  and  there  are  grounds  for  thinking  that 
the  two  occurrences  are  merely  synchronous,  and  have 
from  this  fact  been  considered  as  cause  and  effect.  We 


NOVEMBER.  267 

all  know  that  prior  to  any  trace  of  frost  some  forest  trees 
lose  the  green  tint  of  their  leaves,  and  assume  quite  brill- 
iant colors ;  and,  too,  a  single  branch  may  change,  while 
the  other  limbs  of  the  tree  remain  unchanged ;  again,  in  a 
cluster  of  trees  of  the  same  species  one  or  more  may 
change,  but  not  the  others — this  occurring  either  before 
or  after  a  frost  or  a  succession  of  them. 

Fortunately,  premature  frosts,  as  we  may  call  such  as 
occur  earlier  than  September  20,  are  of  such  rare  occur- 
rence that  their  effects  can  not  be  satisfactorily  studied. 
It  has  often  been  asserted  that  when  such  frosts  did  occur 
the  foliage  quickly  responded  by  changing  its  color.  In 
but  one  instance  have  I  been  able  to  test  the  truth  of  this, 
and  I  found  that  the  trees  apparently  affected  were  in 
every  case  those  that  change  early  in  September,  quite 
irrespective  of  the  temperature.  Like  the  Virginia 
creeper  and  the  tupelo,  there  are  several  trees  and  some 
small  shrubs  that  undergo  this  change  of  color  as  the  sum- 
mer draws  to  a  close,  but  such  growths  when  scattered  in 
a  wood  are  not  apt  to  be  noticed.  Autumn  leaves  are 
not  generally  known  as  a  phenomenon  of  summer,  so 
are  not  looked  for ;  but  they  are  a  sturdy  fact,  neverthe- 
less. 

So  uncertain  and  contradictory  seemed  the  whole 
matter  that  I  have  for  several  summers  followed  the  trees' 
course  from  early  spring  until  autumn,  in  hopes  of  learn- 
ing something  concerning  the  supposed  relationship  of 
frost  and  the  coloring  of  leaves ;  the  following  may  bear 
significantly  upon  the  question. 

The  condition  of  the  growth  of  the  leaves  in  spring 
appears  to  have  much  to  do  with  the  progress  of  the 
autumnal  change.  As  an  instance  of  this  I  may  men- 
tion that  three  enormous  beeches  near  my  home  were  in 
full  foliage,  May  1,  1886,  and  the  rich  yellow-green  of  the 
growing  leaves  had  wholly  disappeared.  During  the  first 


268  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

week  in  June,  the  branches  of  one  of  these  trees  having 
an  eastern  exposure,  produced  a  copious  second  growth  of 
leaves.  In  October  following,  when  the  foliage  generally 
had  dropped,  this  second  growth  still  held  its  place,  and 
did  not  fall  until  the  middle  of  November.  It  came  a 
month  later  and  tarried  that  much  longer.  The  same 
phenomenon  I  have  often  noticed  in  connection  with  the 
many  oaks  that  abound  here,  and  notably  the  broad- 
leaved  or  post-oak. 

Frost,  it  is  well  known,  is  quite  irregular  in  its  distri- 
bution. It  needs  but  a  slight  variation  in  condition  to 
ward  it  off  when  all  about  the  ground  is  covered  as  with 
snow ;  but  it  seems  scarcely  possible  that  a  tree  standing 
alone  in  an  open  field  should  be  affected  upon  one  side 
and  not  on  the  other,  and  that  the  branches  that  bear  a 
second  growth  of  leaves  should  always  be  those  that  escape 
being  chilled  during  the  first  few  frosty  nights.  The 
leaf,  it  would  appear,  like  the  fruit,  has  a  given  time  for 
growth  and  ripening,  if  we  may  call  its  coloring  by  that 
name ;  and  if  the  tree  is  in  full  vigor,  the  occurrence  of 
frosty  weather  does  not  more  than  hasten  the  process,  if 
it  does  that.  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  the  primary 
cause.  This  is  an  old  view,  and  as  applicable  to  southern 
New  Jersey,  I  subscribe  to  it. 

During  the  spring  of  the  current  year  I  noticed  that 
trees  of  the  same  species  varied  exceedingly  in  the  time 
of  coming  into  leaf — a  difference  that  may  be  explained, 
I  suppose,  by  the  variation  in  the  temperature  of  the  soil ; 
and  at  this  time,  November,  these  same  trees  may  be  di- 
vided into  three  classes:  leafless,  with  colored  foliage, 
and  those  with  curled  but  still  green  leaves.  The  trees 
came  into  leaf  last  April  in  the  order  named ;  those  now 
bare  being  the  earliest  to  bud  ;  those  still  in  the  leaf,  the 
latest.  In  particular  I  recall  two  shell-bark  hickories 
growing  not  two  hundred  yards  apart,  and  one  no  more 


NOVEMBER.  269 

protected  than  the  other.  These  varied  last  spring  by 
just  two  weeks  in  the  growth  of  the  foliage ;  and  diifered 
by  the  same  length  of  time  in  October ;  one  being  golden 
while  the  other  was  still  green,  and  when  leafless  the 
other  was  yet  clothed  in  maroon-tinted  leaves  of  great 
beauty.  The  fruit  of  the  two  ripened  at  the  same  time. 

The  effect  of  a  drought,  whether  early  or  late,  is  also 
to  be  considered.  While  I  am  not  aware  that  any  pro- 
tracted period  of  dry  weather  prevented  the  leaf-bud 
from  maturing,  it  is  true  that  the  size  of  the  leaf  is 
affected  with  many  trees,  and  the  differences  in  this  re- 
spect between  a  dry  April  and  one  that  has  had  an  abun- 
dance of  rain,  is  a  matter  of  from  one  eighth  to  one  fourth 
in  the  size  of  the  leaves.  This  is  particularly  noticeable 
among  oaks  and  chestnuts,  unless  they  are  grown  in 
permanently  wet  situations,  as  near  springs  or  in  low 
meadows. 

We  see,  too,  the  effect  of  an  early  drought  during  the 
following  autumn,  for  the  leaves  fall  earlier  in  the  season 
if  they  were  checked  in  April  by  want  of  moisture ;  but 
a  long  drought,  as  is  now  so  common  in  August  or  Sep- 
tember, does  not  affect  the  leaves  injuriously — as  they 
freshen  when  rain  does  come — or  to  any  noticeable  extent 
so  far  as  their  falling  is  concerned.  We  had  a  test  case 
in  1886,  when  there  occurred  a  protracted  late  summer 
drought,  yet  the  leaves  remained  upon  the  trees  longer 
than  usual — a  fact  not  to  be  ascribed  to  absence  of  frost, 
but  to  the  vigor  they  received  from  a  superabundance 
of  rain  in  April  and  early  May,  a  vigor  in  nowise  checked 
by  the  low  temperature  of  August  29,  when  frost  formed 
in  damp  situations.  And  well  I  remember  the  parched 
and  dusty  summer  of  1874.  From  May  until  September 
scarcely  a  drop  of  rain  fell.  In  August  the  leaves  began 
to  fall,  and  the  woods  were  bare  by  October  1.  There 
were  no  colored  leaves  in  the  forest  save  of  such  trees  as 


2TO  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

become  brightly  hued  late  in  the  summer ;  and  these  were 
dull  and  withered. 

But  autumn  leaves  have  another  than  their  natural 
history — like  autumn  sunshine  they  have  merits  that 
concern  the  rambler,  who  cares  not  a  fig  for  their  botani- 
cal significance — what  may  be  called  their  sentimental 
history.  Concerning  this  it  behooves  me  not  to  speak. 
Many  have  essayed  to  record  autumn's  full  suggestive- 
ness,  and  succeeded  admirably.  For  myself,  I  never  wade 
through  the  dead  leaves  that  litter  the  paths  in  the  woods 
without  thinking  of  the  past.  Their  rustling,  like  the 
monotonous  creak  of  the  mole  cricket,  is,  I  know  not 
why,  associated  with  days  so  far  happier  than  the  present 
that  I  am  sobered  by  the  sounds.  To-day  I  rested  full 
length  on  a  bed  of  autumn  leaves,  but  happily  had  no 
gloomy  thoughts.  The  birds  were  abundant,  and  they, 
too,  appear  to  love  to  send  them  flying  hither  and  yon. 
Thrushes  and  sprightly  chewinks  that  the  few  frosts  have 
not  frightened,  scratched  among  them  to  their  hearts'  de- 
light, and  chirped  so  merrily  one  might  call  it  song.  And 
the  chipmunks  scurried  over  the  leaf -hidden  ground,  and 
then  stopping  suddenly,  barked  at  one  another,  until  the 
little  wood  resounded  with  their  squeaky  voices.  The 
crested  tit  and  Carolina  wrens  sang  lustily,  the  jays 
scolded,  and  many  native  sparrows  sang  as  though  it  were 
May,  and  not  November.  There  was  nothing  gloomy  in 
that  little  wood,  and  I  started  homeward  at  peace  with 
my  own  thoughts — started  almost  joyously,  but  the  leaves 
creaked  ominously  as  I  trod  them  under  foot.  That 
sound  suggested  nothing  but  the  dead  past. 

But  yesterday  it  seemed  that  I  wandered  beneath 
these  same  leaves,  thankful  for  the  pleasant  shade  they 
cast.  What  though  the  air  was  filled  with  that  dreamy 
haze  that  makes  an  Indian  summer  of  the  day?  Save 
in  these  woods  Nature  seemed  daintly  dusted  with  old 


NOVEMBER.  271 

gold ;  very  beautiful,  but  with  not  a  trace  of  springtide 
activity.  And  as  I  walked  the  air  was  full  of  falling 
leaves.  Slowly  they  floated  earthward,  as  though  strug- 
gling against  fate.  Who,  indeed,  could  be  merry  in  a 
shower  of  autumn  leaves  ? 

The  mellow  mist  that  wraps  the  hills, 

And  floods  the  blighted  meadows, 
The  river's  winding  valley  fills ; 

Fled  are  the  forest  shadows. 
A  melancholy  ending,  this, 

Of  summer's  wealth  of  vigor ; 
A  veritable  Judas'  kiss, 

Forerunning  winter's  rigor. 

While  last  these  sad  November  days, 

The  leafy  rain  that  clatters 
About  the  bosky  nooks  and  ways, 

Wherein  the  squirrel  chatters, 
Calls  back  the  withered  hopes  that  seemed 

Life's  gold  in  days  departed, 
And  endless  summer,  ours,  we  dreamed, 

But  age,  how  wintry  hearted ! 

And  what  perfect  days  do  we  often  have,  even  so  late 
as  in  the  last  week  of  November !  The  white  fog,  like 
snow-banks,  shuts  out  the  horizon  only,  making  a  fitting 
background  for  the  forest  that  rims  the  river's  valley.  So 
the  rambler  had  a  little  world  to  himself,  and  though,  save 
the  dark-blue  sky,  there  was  little  color  but  brown,  that 
little  with  its  scarlet,  winterberry  and  rich  red  bittersweet 
were  the  more  beautiful.  But  why  strive  to  prove  brown 
Nature  dreary  ?  The  birds  were  happy — take  a  hint  from 
them.  Nor  was  it  only  the  many  birds  that  charmed. 
Among  the  still  clinging,  crisply  crackling  leaves  there 
was  piping  gayly  a  hidden  hyla. 

I  have  had  much  to  say,  in  times  past,  of  the  activity 
of  our  frogs  during  the  late  autumn  and  winter,  and  here 


272  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

would  only  add  a  word  more  about  Pickering's  hyla,  as  it 
is  usually  called.  I  endeavored,  during  last  winter,  to  de- 
termine just  how  far  it  was  affected  by  extreme  cold,  and 
was  quite  unsuccessful.  One  incident,  however,  bears 
upon  the  matter.  During  a  sleety,  snowy,  northeast 
storm  in  December  I  heard  one  peeping  in  a  tall  birch  tree, 
and  searched  long  for  it.  It  appeared  to  be  among  the 
lower  branches,  but  of  this  I  could  not  be  sure.  It  is  pre- 
eminently a  wood-note  that  is  difficult  to  locate. 

At  last,  chilled  from  long  clinging  to  the  icy  branches, 
I  sprang  to  the  ground,  and  in  so  doing  brushed  the  hyla 
with  me  to  the  heaped  leaves  in  the  wood-road.  This  I 
discovered,  for  twice  as  it  crouched  among  them  I  heard 
its  shrill  peep,  and  then  caught  sight  of  it  as  with  one 
desperate  leap  it  vanished. 

If  here,  where 

"  sultry  summer  overstays 
When  autumn  chills  the  plain," 

but  did  not  that  winter's  day,  the  hylas  can  find  heart  .to 
peep,  I  am  ready  to  hear  them  at  any  time,  let  the  mer- 
cury range  where  it  will. 

Just  before  a  sudden  blast  from  the  north  with  its 
attendant  iciness  closed  the  month,  there  was  a  soft  south 
wind  that  warmed  not  only  the  air  but  the  water,  and 
brought  all  of  our  batrachian  life  to  the  fore.  Great  bull- 
frogs, spotted  croakers,  green  rattlers,  pygmy  peepers — 
silent  now — and  daintiest  of  all,  Pickering's  tree-toad, 
which  peeped  continually.  Then,  among  the  wind-swept 
leaves  that  clogged  the  brook  were  salamanders  of  all  sizes— 
brown,  spotted,  red,  yellow,  and  striped.  But  the  little 
tree-toad,  now  calling  through  the  woods  and  always  the 
most  difficult  to  discover,  I  despaired  of  finding,  but  for- 
tune favored  me,  and  I  saw  a  single  one  as  it  gave  a  mighty 
leap  and  came  to  rest  upon  an  oak  leaf  across  the  ditch. 


NOVEMBER.  273 

Grasping  my  companion's  hand,  I  leaned  over  as  far  as 
possible  and  covered  the  creature  with  my  hand,  nor  vent- 
ured to  so  much  as  even  peep  at  my  prisoner  until  I 
reached  the  house.  While  my  right  hand  was  thus  con- 
verted into  a  frog-pen,  I  saw  a  single  Savannah  cricket  or 
spring  peeper,  and  this,  too,  I  caught.  How  aggravating 
to  have  seen  a  third  desideratum  with  both  hands  in  lim- 
bo !  But  I  didn't. 

The  two  little  frog-like  creatures  are  in  a  glass  case 
before  me  as  I  write,  and  a  word  concerning  them  before 
returning  to  the  leafless  woods.  One  is  a  tree-toad,  and 
has  little  circular  pads  on  the  ends  of  its  toes,  by  the  aid 
of  which  it  holds  on  even  to  the  glass.  The  other  has 
pointed  toes,  but  with  some  effort,  and  by  always  remain- 
ing in  wet  spots,  it  too  can  hold  on  to  smooth  surfaces  mar- 
velously  well.  The  former  is  the  autumn  songster ;  the 
other  is  the  earliest  of  springtide  vocalists.  The  tree-toad 
is  of  an  unchangeable  pale-buff  color,  the  other  is  green- 
bronze  dashed  with  old  gold,  black,  and  white,  and  further- 
more can  change  its  colors  from  very  dark  to  extremely  pale 
tints.  Both  are  active,  and  their  prominent  bright  eyes 
suggest  a  deal  of  wisdom,  which  even  long-continued  ob- 
servation fails  to  detect.  Yet  they  must  think !  As  I 
watch  them  now  it  is  impossible  to  foretell  their  actions. 
They  prepare  for  subsequent  movements  in  so  deliberate 
a  manner  one  can  not  help  thinking  they  decide  in  ad- 
vance upon  much  that  they  do.  The  manner  in  which 
the  tree-toad  followed  a  house-fly  showed  a  modicum  of 
common  sense.  Again,  there  was  always  a  "  make-ready, 
take  aim,"  posing  before  either  gave  a  leap  that  was  read- 
ily interpreted.  Yet  no  amount  of  experience  is  sufficient 
to  teach  a  frog  the  nature  of  a  pane  of  glass.  And  at 
times,  as  if  by  accident,  they  lodge  in  some  comfortable 
nook,  and  remain  motionless  for  many  minutes.  What 
then,  I  wonder,  is  the  nature  of  their  thoughts  ? 
18 


274:  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

The  birds  that  thronged  the  thickets  to-day  were  emi- 
nently suggestive.  Most  of  them  were  from  the  north, 
and  here  to  spend  the  winter.  "Were  any  of  them  the 
same  individuals  that  were  here  a  year  ago  ?  Perhaps  this 
is  not  so  absurd  a  question  as  it  may  at  first  seem.  Let 
me  ask,  have  or  have  not  birds  a  love  of  locality  as  have 
some  mammals  ?  If  such  a  feeling  exists  among  resident 
species,  why,  indeed,  may  it  not  among  those  that  migrate? 
And,  too,  of  those  birds  that  come  to  us  in  the  spring  from 
the  south,  are  there  not  some  that  visit  the  same  spot  year 
after  year.  It  is  a  widespread  impression,  and  probably 
based  upon  fact.  The  whole  subject  is  one  of  great  inter- 
est, and  has  its  bearing  upon  the  subject  of  the  permanent 
mating  of  many  species. 

In  the  woods  to-day  were  dozens  of  white-throated 
sparrows,  and  their  pleasing  whistle  banished  every  trace 
of  the  gloom  that  silent,  leafless  thickets  always  have. 
Their  presence  brought  up  the  subject  of  local  attach- 
ments, and  I  discussed  with  myself  some  points  of  the 
question  as  I  wandered  along  the  hill-side. 

If  certain  birds  that  spend  the  summers  with  us  come 
year  after  year  to  the  same  spot,  then  there  is  no  reason 
why  the  same  should  not  be  true  of  birds  that  come  from 
the  north  to  spend  the  winter.  The  fact  that  the  former 
nest  here,  and  so  have  stronger  reasons  for  attachment  to 
a  given  locality,  is,  it  is  true,  an  argument  wanting  in 
the  other  case,  but  this  want  does  not  relegate  the  matter 
to  the  limbo  of  improbability. 

Let  us  consider  some  of  the  common  spring  birds,  as 
the  familiar  house-wren  and  the  cat-bird,  for  instance. 
In  the  early  spring  of  1859  a  little  box  was  placed  in  a 
tempting  position  for  the  benefit  of  the  wrens.  In  May 
of  that  year  the  box  was  occupied  by  a  pair  of  these  birds, 
and  during  the  subsequent  twenty-seven  years  the  box  has 
been  tenanted  regularly  from  May  1  until  September. 


NOVEMBER.  275 

Always  two,  and  sometimes  three  broods  have  been  raised. 
It  is  evident  that  the  pair  which  first  occupied  the  box 
can  not  be  proved  to  have  subsequently  nested  in  the 
same  quarters,  but  there  is,  I  maintain,  so  great  a  degree  of 
probability  that  they  did,  that  it  is  of  value  in  determin- 
ing that  other  phase  of  bird  life — permanent  mating.  The 
question  hinges  largely  upon  whether  we  can  or  not 
recognize  individual  birds  by  their  actions.  This  claim 
has,  as  a  matter  of  course,  been  ridiculed  by  some,  and 
doubted  by  almost  every  one ;  and  yet  I  am  by  no  means 
convinced  that  it  is  a  fallacy.  My  friend  Mr.  Thomas 
Proctor,  of  Brooklyn,  has  published  some  very  pertinent 
remarks  upon  the  subject,  from  which  I  quote  as  fol- 
lows: 

"  A  gentleman  with  whom  I  am  acquainted  has  a 
fondness  for  cage-birds  amounting  almost  to  a  passion. 
The  European  linnet  (Fringilla  linota)  is  his  favorite, 
and  in  the  course  of  years  he  has  kept  as  pets  several 
hundreds  of  them.  He  has  assured  me  that  individual 
traits  in  this  species  are  as  apparent  to  him  as  such  traits 
are  to  him  in  human  beings.  In  those  birds,  he  says,  such 
traits  are  manifest  in  form,  motion,  manner,  expression  of 
face,  in  voice,  and  even  in  moral  characteristics.  When 
standing  at  the  outside  of  the  closed  door  of  the  room 
in  which  he  keeps  his  pets,  he  will  be  able  to  recognize 
the  voice  of  any  particular  one  of  his  fifteen  or  so  linnets 
by  its  distinctive  quality,  usually  at  the  first  chirp  or  note 
given,  and  when  in  the  room  with  them,  he  can  recognize 
any  particular  one  of  them  by  characteristics  shown  in 
manner  of  motion,  and  most  generally  at  the  first  hop  of  the 
bird  from  one  perch  to  another.  '  And  there  is  an  indi- 
viduality,' he  contends,  *  shown  in  a  bird's  mere  attitude 
in  resting.'  .  .  . 

"  In  my  experience  with  cage-birds,  distinctive  individu- 
al traits  are  more  readily  to  be  perceived  in  the  European 


276  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

goldfinch,  than  in  any  other  species  ;  and  I  think  that  I 
can  safely  say  that  I  should  readily  be  able  to  recognize 
any  particular  bird  of  that  species  which  had  been  kept 
by  me  as  a  pet  for  a  period  of  six  months,  in  case  of  its 
subsequent  absence  from  me,  in  other  hands,  for  a  period 
of  two  years,  unseen  by  me  in  the  mean  while." 

And  while  I  will  not  be  as  positive  about  the  migratory 
wild  birds  that  nest  near  my  house  summer  after  summer, 
I  will  say  that  I  have  recognized  the  same  pairs  of  some, 
from  year  to  year,  my  guide  being  their  individuality.  To 
do  so  needs  no  other  art  than  to  become  acquainted  with 
the  birds,  by  patiently  watching  them  day  after  day,  and 
finally  getting  their  confidence.  House-wrens,  for  instance, 
are  never  mute.  The  moment  they  alight,  even  after  a 
long  migratory  flight,  they  commence  singing.  On  one 
point  concerning  their  arrival  in  spring  I  am  very  positive 
— they  do  not  straggle  into  the  river  valley,  and  wander 
aimlessly  about  for  some  time  before  they  take  possession 
of  the  boxes.  Yesterday  there  was  no  wren  along  the 
hill-side — at  dawn  to-day  they  are  in  full  song,  and  perched 
upon  or  very  near  the  box  that  was  last  year  their  home. 
There  was  no  hunting  for  a  nesting  site,  no  feverish 
courtship,  no  coaxing  of  a  coy  female  to  inspect  the  box, 
no  discussion  of  the  availability  of  the  site,  no  quarreling 
among  a  half-dozen,  more  or  less,  for  possession.  Yester- 
day the  spot  was  as  deserted  as  at  Christmas;  to-day, 
not  the  male  wren  alone,  but  he  and  his  mate  are  at 
home. 

If  the  wrens  that  each  summer  occupied  this  one  box 
were  not  mated  when  they  started  from  their  winter 
quarters,  then  their  courtship  occurred  while  on  their 
northward  journey,  for  I  can  not  believe  that,  arriving  in 
the  night,  this  pair  of  wrens  agreed  not  to  disagree  for  a 
season,  some  time  betwixt  midnight  and  dawn.  The  sum 
and  substance  of  the  matter  is,  the  actions  of  the  birds 


NOVEMBER.  277 

can  best  be  interpreted  by  supposing  they  are  permanently 
mated,  and  knew  where  they  were  going  in  advance  of 
their  migratorial  journey.  It  may  be  what  a  willing  critic 
calls  a  "  surprising  hypothesis,"  but  I  believe  it,  neverthe- 
less. Three  decades  of  familiarity  with  the  birds  of  a 
country  dooryard  may  not  be  sufficient  to  determine  such 
a  matter,  but  it  makes  one  very  positive  about  it,  never- 
theless, and  captious  contradiction  goes  for  nothing. 

The  same  promptness  to  visit,  examine,  and  linger 
about  last  summer's  nesting  tree  is  characteristic  of  the 
Baltimore  oriole ;  and  to  say,  as  has  been  said,  that  the 
sexes  never  arrive  at  the  same  time  is  rot,  pure  and  sim- 
ple. Even  if  it  were  true,  it  would  not  conflict  with  the 
"  hypothesis  "  of  being  mated  for  longer  than  a  season. 

Let  us  turn  now  to  the  consideration  of  cat-birds. 
Having  thought  for  several  summers  that  possibly  it  was 
the  same  pair  that  nestled  in  a  clump  of  blackberry  canes 
near  by,  I  carefully  watched  them,  a  year  ago,  to  deter- 
mine their  feeding-grounds,  if  so  be  it  they  had  any  par- 
ticular range  during  the  arduous  weeks  when  they  had 
young  to  feed.  I  could  only  determine  that  the  garden 
was  more  frequently  visited  than  the  hill-side  or  meadows, 
and  so  placed  food  in  easy  reach  and  plain  sight.  This 
was  soon  discovered  and  continually  visited.  Gradually  I 
removed  the  board  upon  which  were  placed  the  fruit  and 
insects  farther  and  farther  from  the  nest,  and  finally 
placed  it  beneath  a  large  gooseberry  bush  at  the  other  end 
of  the  garden.  After  the  young  were  grown  they  and 
the  old  birds  continued  to  rely  upon  it  for  their  food  sup- 
ply, which  I  kept  up  pretty  regularly  until  the  end  of 
August. 

The  following  April  cat-birds  reappeared,  and  the  first 
that  I  saw  were  industriously  hunting  in  and  about  the 
gooseberry  bush,  a  spot  not  at  all  likely  to  be  visited  by 
these  birds  under  ordinary  circumstances.  In  May  I  re- 


278  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

commenced  the  supplies  of  food,  and  the  old  nesting  site 
was  reoccupied,  although  then  a  much  more  exposed 
position  than  it  was  during  the  preceding  summer. 
Here  was  an  association  of  two  localities  in  the  minds  of 
the  birds,  and  an  error  of  judgment,  of  course,  in  suppos- 
ing the  food  supply  at  one  point  depending  on  the  nest  be- 
ing at  another.  It  is  important  to  note  here  as  usual  that 
there  was  not  at  first  a  single  bird  but  a  pair,  and  they 
were  so  intimately  associated  as  to  lead  any  one  to  sup- 
pose that  they  were  mated  on  arrival. 

The  same  character  of  evidence  has  been  noted  of  many 
species,  and  the  whole  subject  in  its  different  aspects,  of 
love  of  locality,  permanent  mating,  and  preference  of 
winter  visitants  for  certain  spots  to  which  they  possibly 
return  season  after  season,  loses  much  of  its  vagueness 
and  improbability  when  birds  are  studied  in  one  locality 
year  after  year  for  many  years. 

Impressions  of  this  kind  acquired  by  field  studies  can 
not  be  readily  described  in  minute  detail,  but  one  point, 
however,  can  be  insisted  upon  dogmatically — when  a  pair 
of  birds  are  studied  for  a  season,  long  before  the  time 
of  their  departure  at  the  close  of  summer  they  will  be 
very  different  birds  to  the  observer  from  all  others  of 
their  kind.  It  is  not  difficult  to  distinguish  their  indi- 
viduality. 

Everybody,  it  would  seem,  speaks  of  Indian  summer 
with  that  glibness  that  should  arise  from  positive  knowl- 
edge, but  far  oftener  it  is  the  outcome  of  positive  igno- 
rance. 

Multitudinous  as  are  the  references  to  the  subject, 
there  are  but  few  elaborate  essays  treating  solely  of  it. 
Indeed,  it  is  but  very  recently  that  I  have  found  a  few  of 
these.  On  the  other  hand  the  various  references  to  the 
short-lived  season  are  by  no  means  harmonious  state- 


NOVEMBER.  279 

ments.  The  impressions  of  a  dozen  authors  that  I  have 
collated,  as  to  its  time,  place,  and  circumstance,  are 
quite  as  hazy  as  the  brief  "  summer  "  itself  certainly  is. 

By  most  people  it  is  claimed  to  be  peculiar  to  Novem- 
ber, and  warm,  hazy,  dolce  far  niente  days  in  October  or 
December  are  simply  so  much  good  luck,  but  not  typical 
Indian  summer.  This  extreme  view  is  not  commonly 
held,  although  the  correct  one ;  and  by  people  generally 
December  days  of  the  proper  sort  are  allowed  to  pass. 
As  there  is  no  established  authority  on  the  subject,  the 
laity  are  happy  in  being  allowed  to  think  as  they  please — 
a  very  dangerous  liberty,  by  the  way,  as  is  proved  by  the 
fact  that  this  same  leaderless  laity  are  quite  at  sea  as  to 
what  Indian  summer  really  is;  all  of  which  matters 
nothing  to  them,  and  they  talk  about  it  as  freely  as  of  the 
round  of  the  seasons. 

The  term  "  Indian  summer  "  was  applied  to  the  occa- 
sional brief  spell  of  pleasant  weather  in  November  about 
two  centuries  ago  the  writers  having  New  England  in 
mind,  and  probably  to  this  day  the  "  summer  "  of  late  au- 
tumn is  more  regular  in  its  occurrence  there  than  it  is  or 
has  ever  been  in  New  Jersey.  But  why  call  it  "  Indian  " 
at  all?  It  can  scarcely  be  considered  a  happy  chosen 
name,  even  if  the  following  is  to  be  accepted  as  the  ex- 
planation : 

"  In  the  early  periods  of  our  history,  when  the  Indian 
enemies  lurked  in  the  forests  and  burst  out  from  their 
ambuscades  on  the  planter,  the  first  settlers  enjoyed  little 
security,  except  in  the  winter,  when  the  severity  of  the 
season  prevented  the  incursions  of  the  savages.  The 
coming  of  winter  was  hailed  as  the  commencement  of 
peace  by  the  early  inhabitants  of  the  country  ;  they  sallied 
out  from  the  little  forts  and  block-houses,  in  which  they 
had  been  hemmed  up,  with  the  joyful  feelings  of  prisoners 
escaping  from  confinement,  and  busily  gathered  in  their 


280  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

harvests.  To  our  ancestors  the  snows  of  winter  were  more 
pleasant  than  the  flowers  of  spring,  as  they  brought  the 
cessation  of  the  horrors  of  war.  But  it  often  happened 
that  the  mild  day  of  November  afforded  the  red  men 
another  opportunity  of  visiting  the  settlements  with  those 
desolating  blows,  which  burst  like  the  lightning  from  the 
cloud,  leaving  the  record  of  their  effects  in  the  blaze  that 
followed  the  stroke.  The  activity  of  the  red  men  during 
these  periods  gave,  as  is  supposed,  the  name  of  '  Indian 
summer '  to  those  bright  days,  when  autumn  bestows  its 
last  parting  favors." 

From  Hubbard's  "  Memorials  of  a  Half  Century  "  I  clip 
the  following,  as  descriptive  of  the  true  Indian  summer 
and  its  peculiarities :  "  Early  New  England  writers,"  he 
states,  "  speak  of  this  serene  portion  of  autumn  as  pecul- 
iar to  America,  hence  the  name  they  gave  it.  But  we 
look  in  vain  for  any  recognition  of  it  in  pages  not  more 
than  half  a  century  old.  It  seems  to  have  departed  from 
the  land  of  the  Puritans  with  the  vanished  forests,  and 
doubtless  these  had  much  to  do  with  its  former  preva- 
lence. The  French  of  Canada,  called  the  season '  St.  Mar- 
tin's summer.'  .  .  . 

"Yet  the  Indian  summer  is  no  myth.  It  often 
breaks  upon  us  from  the  very  midst  of  storm,  frost, 
and  snow,  true  to  the  tradition  that  there  must  first 
be  a c  squaw  winter '  before  we  can  have  an  '  Indian '  sum- 
mer. .  ,  . 

"  Pleasant  as  our  autumns  usually  are,  .  .  .  not  more 
than  one  in  three  or  four  presents  any  period  of  successive 
days  which  take  on  the  character  of  well-defined  Indian 
summer.  Intervals  between  such  years  may  vary  from  one 
to  ten.  ...  Of  the  fifty  years  from  1835  to  1885,  ten  are 
marked  on  my  calendar  as  having  each  a  full  week  of  well- 
defined  Indian  summer,  viz.,  1837,  '39,  '44,  '48,  '53,  '59, 
'08,  '73,  '75,  and  '84 ;  two  as  having  eleven  to  fifteen  days, 


NOVEMBER.  281 

viz.,  1840  and  '50 ;  two  as  having  thirty  days,  1865  and 
'74,  and  one,  forty-two  days,  1849.  .  .  . 

"  1865,  a  cold,  changeable,  and  dry  year,  but  closing 
with  an  autumn  exceedingly  pleasant  and  warm ;  the  whole 
month  of  November  being  balmy  and  delightful,  though 
with  comparatively  little  haze,  which  characterizes  true 
Indian  summer." 

The  above  describes  the  autumn  weather  of  the  south- 
ern shore  of  Lake  Michigan,  at  and  about  Chicago.  Let 
us  now  consider  this  portion  of  the  year  at  home. 

In  Peirce's  little  volume  on  the  weather  of  Phila- 
delphia and  vicinity,  for  fifty-seven  consecutive  years,  the 
author  mentions  Indian  summer  but  three  times ;  so  the 
pleasant  weather  of  fifty-four  years  may  be  assumed  not 
to  have  reached  the  standard  required.  As  I  understand 
it,  the  true  "  summer "  week  must  occur  in  November, 
and  a  very  marked  hazy  condition  of  the  atmosphere  is  an 
absolutely  essential  feature.  And  here  let  me  ask,  was 
this  peculiarity  a  regular  feature,  or  approximately  so,  of 
late  autumn  in  Indian  times  ?  Had  the  generally  densely 
forested  condition  of  the  country  aught  to  do  with  it  ? 
This  is  not  improbable,  and  one  evidence  of  it  still  holds. 
Among  the  mountains,  where  there  are  still  tracts  of 
woodland,  although  a  meager  second  or  third  growth, 
there  often  occurs  a  typical  Indian  summer  when  such 
weather  is  wanting  in  the  comparatively  treeless  tracts  of 
the  lower,  level  country.  But,  after  all,  why  the  Indians 
are  coupled  with  it,  remains  a  mystery.  The  term  implies 
that  the  aborigines  did  not  appreciate  the  summer  proper, 
which  is  not  true.  They  were  partial  to  it,  and  recognized 
all  its  merits.  May  they  called  the  beginning  of  sum- 
mer, June  was  summer  proper,  and  July  was  known  by 
a  long  name,  the  meaning  of  which  is  quite  suggestive — 
"  when  the  bees  are  busiest."  There  is  no  evidence  that 
they  ignored  three  months  of  fruitful  weather  for  an  un- 


282  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

certain  week  in  autumn  that  perfected  nothing.  Ifc  ac- 
quired no  place  in  their  religion,  and  if  it  was  weather  to 
their  liking  they  failed  to  do  more  than  say  as  much 
among  themselves;  but  it  suggested  nothing,  nor  were 
prayers  offered  for  its  continuance. 

In  our  own  weather-lore,  strangely  enough,  the  season, 
or  "  spell,"  does  not  figure  prominently.  It  is  given  in 
"  Signal  Service  Notes,"  No.  IX,  Weather  Proverbs,  that, 
"  If  we  don't  get  our  Indian  summer  in  October  or  No- 
vember, we  will  get  it  in  winter."  How  jolly  a  thought 
for  the  rambler,  but  alas !  as  is  so  often  the  case  with  glib 
sayings,  there  is  not  a  vestige  of  truth  in  it.  How  it 
collapses  when  confronted  by  statistics ! 

Be  then  the  history  of  Indian  summer  what  it  may, 
all  know  it  when  it  really  appears,  as  is  evidenced  by  the 
readiness  to  herald  a  spurious  article ;  and  the  contempla- 
tive rambler  plans  his  outings  to  cover  all  the  ground. 

And  wherein  lies  the  charm  of  this  short  season? 
Undoubtedly  the  yellow  haze  that  softens  the  horizon  and 
gives  the  world  a  dreamy  look  has  all  to  do  with  it.  The 
character  of  this  haze  is  an  open  question.  It  is  said  to 
be  animal  life  so  minute  as  to  escape  microscopical  exam- 
ination— hypothetical  creatures  that  make  up  in  numbers 
what  they  lack  in  size,  and  at  one  time  shake  the  atmos- 
phere and  obscure  the  sun.  By  many  it  is  thought  to  be 
of  vegetable  origin ;  and  by  a  great  many,  in  a  pompous 
manner,  it  is  said  to  be  "  haze,  and  any  fool  knows  what 
that  is."  This,  the  remark  of  a  prominent  citizen  who  is 
not  suspected  by  his  neighbors  to  be  the  greatest  fool  of 
them  all.  And  of  such  is  many  a  town  made  up — and 
kept  down. 

I  glory  in  being  one  of  the  fools  that  do  not  know 
what  haze  is.  The  few  Indian  summers  that  I  have 
known  have  put  me  in  possession  of  but  one  or  two  insignifi- 
cant facts  concerning  it.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  never 


NOVEMBER.  283 

just  where  you  happen  to  be ;  it  is  everywhere  else,  except 
directly  overhead,  and  disappears  as  promptly  as  you 
change  your  own  position.  Again,  it  is  delightfully  rest- 
less, outwriggling  any  child  in  church,  so  I  am  told.  No 
dancer  has  such  nimble  legs.  From  sunrise  to  sunset  it 
waltzes  with  the  distant  tree-tops,  while  the  trees  near 
where  I  am  standing  remain,  like  myself,  a  quiet  specta- 
tor. But  when  I  run  across  the  pasture  meadow,  the  trees 
have  changed  places — those  that  were  dancing  are  now 
sedate  spectators. 

But  no  one  should  stand  during  Indian  summer,  al- 
though it  is  not  a  season  of  activity.  I  compromised  the 
matter  by  taking  my  boat  and  rowing  down  Crosswicks 
Creek  from  the  draw-bridge  to  the  Delaware — four  miles 
or  more  of  a  most  crooked  course;  here,  between  wide 
meadows  but  a  foot  or  two  above  high  tide,  and  there,  at 
the  foot  of  a  wooded  bluff,  where  the  current  is  swifter 
and  ripples  over  shallows  studded  with  pebbles,  mussels, 
and,  strange  to  say,  even  to  this  day,  stone  implements 
fashioned  by  prehistoric  men.  The  vicissitudes  of  centu- 
ries, one  would  think,  should  have  buried  them  before 
this.  But  the  floods  divide  their  favors,  and  where  they 
cover  here,  they  expose  elsewhere.  For  how  long 
must  this  valley  have  been  inhabited,  so  thickly  studded 
is  the  meadow  mud  with  weapons  of  rude  workmanship ! 
Yet  not  here  does  the  story  of  man's  occupancy  of  Amer- 
ica open.  There  is  an  earlier  and  even  more  striking 
chapter. 

The  suggestion  that  absolutely  primitive  man  ever  ex- 
isted in  America  has  been  and  still  is  vehemently  denied  ; 
but  it  is  cheering  to  know  that  gradually  his  presence  in 
an  earlier  geological  epoch  is  being  admitted.  Why  so 
cautiously  admitted,  though,  is  not  quite  clear.  Still  it  is 
something  gained  to  have  him  in  the  probability  stage,  in 
a  new  school-book. 


284:  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

As  I  round  the  wooded  bends  and  weedy  corners,  I 
conjure  up  this  ancient  man,  and  people  the  near-by  hills 
with  him  and  his,  picturing  to  myself  what  time  the  first 
Indian  summer  dimmed  the  near  distance  with  its  golden 
mists.  Not  strictly  speaking  an  "  Indian  "  summer  then, 
but  the  mellowing  of  an  ice-age  autumn.  This,  when  the 
river  was  a  mightier  stream,  and  the  first  tide  of  the  creek 
was  yet  to  flow. 

And  later,  when  the  black  mud  that  now  makes  these 
wide,  weedy  meadows  was  being  slowly  laid  down,  yet 
another  folk  were  here,  and  after  them  the  Indian. 
There  is  something  mysterious  in  the  human  mind  that 
it  rebels  the  instant  that  man's  antiquity  is  broached.  The 
mammoth  and  mastodon,  the  moose,  reindeer,  and  ex- 
tinct great  beaver,  they  are  all  well  known,  and  none 
doubt  their  place  in  the  earth's  geological  history ;  there 
are  the  same  evidences  of  men,  earlier  in  time  than  the 
Indian,  mingled  with  the  animals  I  have  named,  yet  the 
statement  makes  men  still  shrug  their  shoulders.  The 
just  law  that  sauce  for  the  goose  should  be  sauce  for  the 
gander,  fails  for  once.  Bones  of  mammals  are  as  old  as 
the  deposits  that  contain  them  ;  but  bones  of  men  must  be 
intrusive  objects.  Why,  must  be,  has  never  been  explained. 
Superstition  has  such  a  grip  upon  the  world,  it  may  yet 
die  in  ignorance. 

But  let  us  to  a  more  pleasant  subject,  where  rancorous 
discussion  can  not  creep  in.  The  dreamy  days  of  this 
short  season  do  not  have  a  depressing  effect  upon  animal 
life.  I  startle  the  wary  wild  duck  as  I  round  a  jutting 
bush-clad  point,  and  its  clear  alarm  cry  goes  bounding  up 
the  valley  until  lost  in  the  open  meadows.  The  foraging 
musk-rats  cross  the  creek  before  me,  bearing  calamus 
roots  upon,  if  not  above,  the  surface  of  the  water ;  but 
more  delightful  than  all  else  to  see  or  hear  now,  are  the 
close-gathered  redwings  that  fill  the  whole  valley  with 


NOVEMBER.  285 

their  united  voices.  It  matters  not  to  them  whether  it 
be  spring  or  autumn,  summer  or  winter ;  there  is  melody 
in  their  hearts  at  all  seasons,  and  they  mean  that  the 
world  shall  know  it. 

The  flowers  of  summer,  even  the  everywhere  present 
golden-rods  of  September,  are  not  missed  at  such  a  time. 
A  single  happy  bird  will  make  glad  the  dreariest  land- 
scape; and  before  Indian  summer  came,  the  meadows 
and  creek-side  were  filled  with  a  cheerful,  chirping  host 
that  will  spend  the  winter  with  us.  I  never  want  for  a 
companion  when  I  come  to  the  creek.  It  is  the  great 
highway  of  an  endless  host,  and  to  be  one  with  them,  if 
not  of  them,  is  a  treat  fit  for  the  gods. 

However  full  the  day,  the  thought  that  this  sweet 
"  summer "  is  so  short  will  constantly  intrude.  Not  a 
cloud  flecks  the  sky  but  we  wonder  what  of  the  morrow  ? 
Not  a  breeze  stirs  the  branches  and  rattles  the  withered 
but  still  clinging  leaves  but  we  scan  the  northern  skies 
for  a  herald  of  winter.  As  quickly  as  the  Indian  summer 
came,  so  she  departs.  The  storm-king  takes  up  the 
scepter,  and  a  new  order  is  established. 

The  Delaware  Indians  called  the  eleventh  month  Wini- 
gisclmcli,  or  Snow  Moon,  and  our  records  show  that  the 
first  snow-fall  is  usually  before  December  1st.  Hence  the 
common  saying  that  the  date  of  the  first  rabbit-tracking 
snow  in  November  indicates  the  number  of  snow-storms 
of  the  winter ;  and  trustworthy  meteorological  records 
show  that  snow  and  ice  are  more  a  feature  of  the  eleventh 
month  than  is  a  week  of  beautiful,  warm,  and  hazy 
weather.  Nevertheless,  November  is  neither  a  winter  nor 
a  wintry  month. 

A  jumping  mouse  that  I  have  had  for  weeks  has  be- 
come so  stupid  since  the  mild  days  of  last  month  that  I 
have  generously  passed  it  over  to  a  friend.  A  word  is  in 


286  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

season,  therefore,  when  these  creatures  are  out  of  season 
concerning  not  only  this  one  in  particular,  but  others  of 
its  kind.  My  field  notes  and  indoor  studies  are  as  fol- 
lows : 

March  13, 1887,  was  a  delightful  day.  There  was  suffi- 
cient warmth  to  cause  one  to  forget  that  winter  had  still 
the  upper  hand.  Peewees  were  abundant,  and  those 
about  the  old  draw-bridge  over  Crosswicks  Creek  sang 
suggestively.  Frogs  croaked  hopefully — something  like 
"  no  more  frost !  no  more  frost ! "  was  the  burden  of  their 
unceasing  chorus;  but  I  may  add,  parenthetically,  that 
there  was  more  frost,  and  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
have  expressed  a  doubt,  even  snow  in  April. 

With  two  enthusiastic  "  outers  "  for  companions,  an 
exploration  of  a  curious  mound  in  the  meadows  was  under- 
taken, we  three  being  archaeologists  for  the  nonce.  The 
little  hill  proved  to  be  Dame  Nature's  work,  and  no  long 
resting  bones  of  Lenni  Lemipe  were  brought  to  light. 
But  we  did  not  come  away  empty-handed.  The  first 
shovelful  of  dirt  removed  exposed  a  hibernating  jumping 
mouse.  It  was  a  cold,  stiff,  globular  mass,  looking  wonder- 
fully like  a  huge  hairy  caterpillar,  closely  curled.  One  of 
my  companions  wrapped  it  in  his  handkerchief,  and 
placed  the  bundle  in  the  capacious  side  pocket  of  his 
overcoat.  From  time  to  time  the  package  was  examined, 
and  in  less  than  an  hour  his  mouseship  was  quite  active 
and  required  extra  precautions  to  prevent  his  escape. 
Some  hours  later,  when  placed  in  fairly  comfortable 
quarters,  he  showed  no  disposition  to  return  to  a  torpid 
condition.  It  was  evident  that  anticipating  summer  had 
no  ill-effects  upon  the  creature's  health. 

This  mouse  lived  for  several  months,  and  finally  be- 
came quite  tame,  but  never  changed  its  nocturnal  to  di- 
urnal habits. 

To-day,  November  21,  has  proved  thoroughly  delight- 


NOVEMBER. 

ful  for  outdoor  occupations.  Too  cool,  perhaps — Indian 
summer  on  ice ;  but  not  disagreeable  to  take.  Late  in  the 
afternoon,  a  cozily  nesting  jumping  mouse  was  exhumed 
from  a  high  knoll  on  one  of  the  upland  fields.  The  ani- 
mal was  in  a  globular  nest  of  closely  interwoven  grass,  and 
this  was  about  six  inches  from  the  surface. 

As  in  all  cases  that  have  come  to  my  knowledge,  the 
position  was  such  that  under  ordinary  circumstances  the 
nest  would  remain  dry,  although  at  such  an  inconsiderable 
depth.  But  the  creatures  do  not  always  make  a  wise 
choice  in  this  all-important  matter,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  for  the  freshets  sometimes  wash  the  earth  away  from 
their  retreats,  and  the  occupants  are  drowned,  often  with- 
out previously  being  roused  to  consciousness. 

In  the  locality  examined  to-day,  the  ordinary  autumn 
saturation  of  the  soil  would,  of  itself,  not  penetrate  the 
thick  mat  of  grass  that  filled  the  burrow,  and  the  ground 
freezing  early  in  the  winter  would  thereby  further  pro- 
tect the  nest  from  protracted  rainfalls  and  the  soaking 
arising  from  the  melting  of  snow.  So  far  as  I  have  been 
able  to  determine,  open  winters,  with  alternating  freezing 
and  thawing  and  rain  instead  of  snow,  are  more  destruct- 
ive to  these  mammals  than  steady  cold,  however  intense 
or  prolonged.  Indeed,  the  latter  condition  can  never 
prove  hurtful,  so  long  as  the  hibernacula  remain  undis- 
turbed. Hence  the  greater  abundance  of  the  species 
farther  north  (?). 

This  curious  kangaroo-like  creature  is  certainly  not 
favorably  constructed  for  elaborate  burrowing.  The  fore 
feet  are  weak,  and  the  fore  limbs  too  short,  or  so  it  seems ; 
and  yet  the  winter  quarters  of  the  specimen  found  to-day 
were  neatly  arranged,  and  the  more  interesting  from  the 
fact  that  it  is  not  very  clear  how  the  hibernating  chamber 
had  been  constructed.  There  was  no  evidence,  such  as 
loose  dirt  or  a  hole  in  the  surface  of  the  ground.  Had 


288  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOOI2S. 

the  presence  of  the  animal  been  suspected,  I  do  not  think 
there  existed  the  slightest  clew  to  its  precise  whereabouts. 
The  excavation,  as  judged  by  the  undisturbed  portion,  was 
nearly  globular,  and  about  five  inches  in  diameter.  The 
cavity  was  filled  with  fine,  flexible  grasses,  except  the 
very  center,  wherein  was  curled  the  torpid  jumping  mouse. 
As  with  the  earth-chamber,  so  the  grasses  lining  it  were 
without  the  slightest  trace  of  an  entrance  to  the  center. 
Apparently,  after  the  mouse  had  curled  itself  up,  it  had 
kept  one  paw,  at  least,  free  and  shut  the  door  and 
barred  it  on  the  inside.  Then,  tucking  this  paw  under 
its  chin,  the  world  was  to  go  easy  with  it  until  next 
spring-tide. 

My  captured  and  now  contented  mouse  was  thrown 
from  its  nest  to  the  surface  of  a  load  of  sand,  and  fortu- 
nately rested  on  the  load  instead  of  beneath  it.  The 
creature's  unceremonious  eviction  did  it  no  harm,  and 
when  first  seen,  at  the  end  of  a  very  short  journey,  it  was 
subjected  to  a  toss  to  the  hard  ground,  upon  which  it  fell 
with  some  force.  A  moment  later,  it  was  handed  to  me. 
From  the  time  of  its  exposure  until  I  received  it,  not 
more  than  ten  minutes,  if  so  much,  had  elapsed.  When 
I  laid  it  upon  the  palm  of  my  hand,  it  was,  to  all  appear- 
ances, a  fuzzy  stone — a  hard,  cold,  oval  pebble,  such  as 
one  might  pick  up  anywhere.  Neither  ears,  limbs,  nor 
tail  were  visible,  the  former  being  pressed  closely  against 
the  breast  and  abdomen,  while  the  tail  was  lost  to  sight  in 
the  fur  of  the  back  and  head,  to  which  it  clung  as  closely 
as  poison  ivy  to  the  oak. 

With  it  still  in  the  position  mentioned,  I  sat  by  a 
stove  for  fifty  minutes,  intent  upon  watching  the  effect 
of  a  high  temperature,  trusting  the  transition  would  not 
prove  too  sudden  and  so  fatal.  It  was  no  light  task  to- 
ward the  last,  but  I  persevered  in  spite  of  discomfort. 
For  twenty  minutes  there  was  no  change  beyond  that  of 


NOVEMBER.  289 

temperature,  the  mouse  no  longer  feeling  like  ice,  and,  I 
think,  the  tail  relaxed  slightly.  About  two  minutes  later, 
there  was  a  well-marked,  convulsive  movement  at  the 
neck,  the  head  rising  a  short  distance  from  the  breast 
and  then  resting  against  it  again.  This  occurred  at  inter- 
vals of  about  forty  seconds,  for  four  or  five  minutes,  and 
then  ceased.  In  the  mean  while  the  tail  uncurled,  but  did 
not  move  when  placed  in  different  positions. 

For  about  three  minutes  the  mouse  seemed  dead.  I 
could  not  detect  its  breathing,  and  when  gently  prodded  it 
did  not  flinch.  Then  suddenly  the  fore  feet  commenced 
twitching  at  about  one  minute  intervals.  Five  minutes 
later,  the  hinder  limbs  likewise  twitched,  and  a  tremor 
siezed  the  whole  body.  The  movements  collectively 
strongly  suggested  that  this  tedious  process  of  returning 
to  consciousness  was  decidedly  painful ;  which,  of  course, 
it  can  not  be.  The  general  trembling  and  twitching 
grew  gradually  more  violent,  but  less  rapid,  and  finally  de- 
veloped into  long-drawn  inspirations,  or  what  appeared  to 
be  such,  and  suggested  more  strongly  than  ever  severe  pain. 

At  the  elapse  of  forty  minutes  from  the  time  of  com- 
mencing my  observations,  control  of  the  limbs  was  ac- 
quired and  the  mouse  stood  up;  regaining  its  position 
whenever  pushed  over  on  its  side  or  turned  upon  its  back. 
It  now  appeared  to  be  asleep  merely,  the  violent  respira- 
tion or  spasmodic  thoracic  movements  that  disturbed  the 
whole  body  having  ceased.  Fully  ten  minutes  later  the 
eyes  opened,  but  such  a  sheepish,  sleepy  look  it  had ! 
Still  it  kept  them  open  and  was  evidently  trying  to  collect 
its  thoughts,  a  task  that  required  some  time  for  it  to 
accomplish. 

I  infer,  from  the  movements  of  the  animal,  that  it 
was  absolutely  unconscious  during  the  time  the  body  was 
steadily  responding  to  the  influence  of  the  warm  atmos- 
phere surrounding  it. 
19 


290  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

Since  the  above  was  written,  I  have  had  my  jumping 
mouse  in  cozy  quarters  for  sufficient  time  to  have  learned 
a  good  deal  about  its  other  habits,  but  have  not  done  so. 
Except  upon  rare  occasions,  it  has  proved  undemonstra- 
tive and  uninteresting  to  a  degree.  One  difficulty  in  the 
study  of  its  habits  is  not  readily  overcome,  that  of  the 
creature  being  active  only  at  night.  And  yet,  while 
strictly  nocturnal,  the  creature  never  appears  dazed,  even 
when  suddenly  plunged  into  the  brightest  sunlight.  The 
eyes  are  small  and  bead-like,  and  have  not  the  suggestive- 
ness  of  weak  vision  and  star-lit  nights  that  do  the  large 
blinking  eyes  of  the  flying  squirrel  and  white-footed 
mouse ;  and  yet  the  creature  is  always  inactive  during  the 
day.  Judging  solely  from  certain  movements  and  the  re- 
sult of  simple  experiment,  it  is  probable,  at  least,  that  the 
creature's  other  senses  are  exceedingly  acute — more  so 
than  with  the  true  mice — and  that  this  supplies  the  de- 
ficiency, if  such  exist,  of  weak  vision.  In  more  than  one 
sense,  I  have  had  to  work  in  the  dark,  to  determine  this, 
if,  indeed,  it  is  determined. 

Twice  my  specimen  has  been  on  the  alert  when  I 
opened  the  cage  to  supply  food  and  water,  and  with 
astonishing  quickness  made  one  desperate  leap  and  van- 
ished. To  recapture  it  was  difficult ;  and  it  was  during 
these  two  occasions  that  I  learned  the  quite  unsuspected 
fact  that  its  scansorial  ability  is  sufficient  to  stand  it 
well  in  need.  If  a  surface  was  moderately  rough,  the 
fact  that  it  was  perpendicular  did  not  bar  its  progress. 
Hence,  while  scrutinizing  the  carpet,  as  though  looking 
for  a  pin,  his  mouseship  was  on  top  of  a  table,  con- 
templating my  senseless  search.  Nevertheless,  I  had  op- 
portunities on  both  occasions  to  observe  its  gait  upon 
level  surfaces,  and  found  it  to  be  quite  the  same  as  that 
of  an  ordinary  house-mouse.  It  only  leaped  when  I 
attempted  to  place  my  hand  over  it.  In  other  words, 


NOVEMBER.  291 

when  pursued,  it  ran,  and  only  leaped  when  about  to  be 
overtaken. 

And  in  all  these  weeks  my  mouse  has  never  squeaked. 
Even  when  his  tail  is  pinched,  it  has  muttered  to 
itself,  if  at  all ;  and  during  the  gloaming,  and  often  until 
well  in  the  night,  I  have  sat  in  darkness  by  its  cage,  hear- 
ing its  movements  and  dimly  discerning  them,  but  not  a 
sound  has  it  uttered.  Yet  I  can  not  think  that  it  is  a  mute 
individual ;  and  I  know  that  in  the  field,  of  a  warm  sum- 
mer night,  they  can  and  do  squeak,  and  sometimes  soften 
this  short  utterance  until  you  might  almost  say  they 
sang. 

Probably,  had  I  found  my  specimen  in  May  instead  of 
November,  when  fresh  from  a  long  winter's  nap,  instead 
of  being  suddenly  aroused  at  the  commencement  of  it,  I 
should  have  had  something  more  interesting  to  report 
concerning  it ;  for  such  as  I  have  seen  within  a  year  or 
two,  in  the  field,  have  shown  themselves  to  be  exceedingly 
intelligent ;  particularly  in  their  usually  successful  efforts 
to  elude  their  enemies,  which  are  so  abundant  that  it  is 
a  marvel  the  species  has  been  able  to  maintain  its  ground ; 
although,  of  course,  its  nocturnal  habits  are  somewhat  in 
its  favor ;  as  is  also  the  fact  that  for  some  five  months  of 
each  year  it  is  safely  tucked  away  from  the  jaws  and  claws 
of  its  most  persistent  foes.  Yet,  notwithstanding  all 
this,  the  species,  in  this  vicinity  at  least,  is  not  nearly  so 
common  as  the  beautiful  white-footed  mouse,  the  Hes- 
peromys,  daintiest  of  all  our  mammals. 

A  year  has  now  passed  since  this  second  section  was 
written,  and  I  have  again  something  more  to  say  of  the 
little  fellow.  Some  years  ago,  I  expressed  a  doubt  as  to 
the  possibility  of  this  mammal  leaping  as  far  as  stated  by 
Dr.  Godman,  "  from  five  to  six  feet  at  every  spring."  I 
have  learned  since  then  that  the  white-footed  mouse  can 
do  this,  and  here  we  have  a  mammal  whose  construe- 


292  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

tion  does  not  suggest  as  marked  leaping  powers.  I  recent- 
ly chased  one  over  the  smooth  rocks  of  Brush  Creek,  in 
southern  Ohio,  where  I  could  mark  and  measure  its  tracks 
as  it  sped  over  the  mud-coated  stones.  Its  leaps  varied 
from  two  to  three  feet,  and  once,  bounding  over  a  shallow 
pool,  the  distance  cleared  was  a  few  inches  more  than  a 
yard. 

Brayton,  in  his  report  on  the  mammals  of  Ohio,  says 
of  the  jumping  mouse,  the  "  kangaroo-like  structure  en- 
ables this  little  animal  to  take  enormous  leaps,  of  even 
eight  to  ten  feet  when  alarmed,"  and  I  have  found  this 
true  of  the  species  in  New  Jersey.  Early  one  morning, 
during  the  summer  just  gone,  I  noticed  in  a  clover  stub- 
ble a  great  commotion,  in  which  a  hen  that  had  her 
chicks  with  her  was  the  only  visible  participant.  Sus- 
pecting that  a  weasel  might  have  attacked  her  brood,  I 
approached  without  due  caution — something  a  naturalist 
should  never  do — and  was  startled  when  quite  near  to 
see  a  small  mammal  give  a  sudden  bound  into  the  air  and 
reach  the  ground  again  at  a  surprising  distance.  I  knew 
of  no  other  creature  possessing  like  jactatorial  power,  and 
pronounced  it  a  jumping  mouse.  A  very  hard  chase,  di- 
rectly afterward,  proved  that  I  was  correct.  To  make  an 
accurate  measurement  of  this  creature's  initial  leap  was 
not  practicable,  but  certain  mullein  stalks  from  which  it 
started  and  at  which  it  landed  led  me  to  believe  that  the 
distance  was  little  if  anything  less  than  nine  feet. 

Of  course  such  jumping  is  unusual,  but  I  noticed  that 
while  I  pursued  the  same  mouse,  it  several  times  gave  sur- 
prising leaps,  after  running  in  a  zigzag  course  for  some 
distance.  It  appeared  to  be  able  to  leap  only  when  it 
reached  some  spot  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  act — a  lay  of 
the  land,  as  it  were,  that  took  the  place  of  a  spring-board. 
I  say,  it  "  appeared  so  " ;  but  in  all  such  matters  one  can 
not  safely  express  an  opinion  unless  based  upon  a  series  of 


NOVEMBER.  293 

observations  and  experiments.  These  are  necessarily  dif- 
ficult, good  luck  rather  than  good  management  making 
them  practicable.  On  one  point,  however,  all  observers 
will  undoubtedly  agree — that  no  other  of  our  mammals 
possesses  leaping  powers  equal  to  those  of  the  pretty  jump- 
ing mouse. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DECEMBER. 

THE  round  of  the  seasons  three  or  four  centuries  ago 
was  less  frequently  interrupted,  probably,  than  now  by 
overstaying  summer.  The  Delaware  Indians,  as  has  been 
mentioned,  expected  at  least  one  snow-fall  in  November. 
This  year,  1888,  we  have  had  next  to  none  even  in  Decem- 
ber. It  was  continually  "in  the  air,"  so  my  neighbors 
averred,  but  if  so,  it  remained  where  it  was ;  but  at  last,  the 
long  threatening  clouds  assembled  in  full  force.  A  dim 
and  dusty  atmosphere  shut  out  the  horizon.  The  gloomy 
pine  trees'  pointed  tops  trembled,  though  there  was  no 
wind,  and  a  muffled  moan  filled  the  long  avenues  of  leafless 
oaks.  Not  a  bird  chirped ;  aye,  not  one  hopped  from  its 
perch,  as  I  passed  them  by,  snow  birds  and  tree  sparrows, 
as  if  even  they  too,  although  visitors  from  the  north,  awaited 
with  fear  the  coming  of  the  storm.  Soon,  with  no  avant- 
courier  to  warn,  singly,  through  the  locked  branches  of 
the  thickset  trees,  sifted  the  icy  snow-flakes.  No  patter 
was  heard,  as  of  April  rain  on  last  year's  leaves.  They 
each  came  silently,  glinting  a  moment  in  the  fading  light 
and  straightway  disappeared.  Then,  as  the  clouds  dark- 
ened, they  fell  in  greater  haste,  whirling  against  and  at 
last  enshrouding  alike  tree,  bush,  brier,  and  withered  wind- 
rowed  leaves. 

The  first  snow  had  come,  and  to-morrow  field,  meadow, 
and  hill-sides  will  be  new  countries  to  explore.  And  so  it 


DECEMBER.  295 

proved.  Throughout  the  night  the  storm  continued,  and 
at  sunrise  I  thought  how  happily  the  Indians  had  named 
the  year's  last  month,  M'chakhocque  gisclmch,  the  moon 
when  the  trees  bend  with  snow. 

That  we  have  less  snow  than  formerly  can  not  be 
questioned;  that  we  shall  have  next  to  none  when  our 
forests  are  all  gone,  goes  without  saying;  but,  happily, 
it  yet  occasionally  invades  even  the  sheltered  meadows, 
and  I,  for  one,  am  duly  thankful.  It  is  a  fact  that  it  mat- 
ters not  how  intense  the  cold  may  be,  nature  is  never  at 
rest,  nor  wild  life  banished ;  merely  every  object  is  more 
strictly  conditioned.  Even  an  arctic  winter  teems  with 
suggestiveness,  and  a  mild  one  is  too  often  but  a  summer 
in  undress. 

Field,  meadow,  and  hill-side,  alike  snow-clad ;  let  us 
ramble  over  them.  Even  were  the  country  literally  cov- 
ered with  the  snow,  a  day's  outing  would  not  prove  fruit- 
less, for  there  are  ever  the  -birds  that  soar  above  it — crows 
in  the  upper  air,  larks  in  the  tree-tops,  and  sparrows  in 
the  hedge-rows ;  then,  too,  the  snow  itself  is  often  alive 
with  pretty  creatures  akin  to  fleas,  marvels  of  activity  and 
grace  as  they  flee  from  your  advancing  shadow.  Still,  the 
average  rambler  is  not  an  Eskimo ;  his  ancestry  is  tropical 
rather,  and  winter  is  loved  only  as  a  novelty.  Hence, 
how  the  countenance  brightens  during  a  winter  walk 
when  one  comes  to  a  bare  spot  of  earth !  How  tenderly 
he  kneels  to  examine  and  perhaps  to  pluck  some  little 
faded  flower — a  bit  of  chick-weed  or  withered  dandelion  ! 
But  I  did  more  than  this ;  tired  with  picking  my  way  over 
half  a  mile  of  stubble,  starting  the  mice  from  their  run- 
ways  and  flushing  grass-finches  from  their  favorite  hol- 
lows, I  came,  at  the  public  road,  upon  a  narrow  strip  of 
naked  earth.  So,  at  least,  it  was  in  common  parlance ; 
but  what  a  beggarly  idea  of  nature  one  must  have  to  call 
it  naked ! 


296  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

At  the  upper  margin  of  the  loose,  red  earth,  that  near- 
est the  unsheltered  field  above,  the  frost  had  lifted  sand- 
grains  and  even  pebbles  from  their  beds,  and  wrought 
many  a  winding  cave,  crystal  grotto,  and  ravine  ;  but  beau- 
tiful as  they  were,  they  smacked  of  winter,  and  I  turned 
my  back  upon  them ;  for  scarcely  more  than  a  pace  dis- 
tant, this  same  red  earth  was  carpeted  with  pink-fruited 
lichen,  and  holding  yet  against  the  season's  rigor  was  a 
forest  of  sweet-fern.  Here  rested  summer  and  winter  face 
to  face,  if  not  hand  in  hand.  Summer,  plucky  to  the  last, 
and  not  to  be  ousted — winter,  impotent  to  harm,  despite 
its  bluster. 

Such  little  spots  are  not  uncommon,  and  interest  the 
more  for  that  so  many,  like  this  road-side  slope,  have  a 
northern  outlook,  and  the  temperature,  of  course,  falls 
very  low  at  times.  To-day,  when  all  is  gloomily  arctic  in 
the  fields  hard  by,  here  is  no  hint  save  that  of  a  genial 
summer  sun,  for  the  sweet-fern  although  bronzed  and 
brittle  has  not  yet  wilted.  Recalling  the  birds  and  mice 
that  I  had  found  on  my  way  hither,  the  conditions  at  the 
road-side  contradicted  the  general  impression  as  to  wild 
life  in  winter.  It  does  not  always  seek  the  more  sheltered 
places ;  for,  notwithstanding  the  northern  exposure,  this 
was  a  sheltered  spot;  else  why  such  vigorous  growths? 
Lichens,  it  is  true,  are  unaffected  by  ordinary  winter 
weather,  but  besides  this,  there  were  other  growths  that 
remained  green  and  fresh  as  ever  a  plant  in  June — saxi- 
frage, prince's  pine,  and  Mitchella  with  its  crimson  ber- 
ries. 

But  animal  life :  there  should  have  been  an  abundance 
of  it,  I  thought,  coursing  over  such  a  cheerful  scene,  but  I 
could  find  spiders  only,  and  very  few  of  them.  Hurry- 
ing over  the  ground,  they  looked  quite  formidable,  and 
were  doubtless  indignant  at  my  interference,  but  far  too 
timid  to  resent  it. 


DECEMBER.  297 

Leaving  this  brilliant  winter  garden,  I  passed  down 
the  road,  and  where  the  slope  was  higher  and  equally  ex- 
posed to  every  breath  of  the  north  wind,  I  found  the  ferns 
still  green.  This  excites  no  surprise  at  favored  spots  on 
the  home  hill-side,  where  the  sun  looks  down  at  noon  and 
every  breeze  but  that  from  the  south  is  held  at  bay.  But 
here  on  the  road-side  every  condition  is  reversed,  and 
where  one  would  naturally  look  for  the  earliest  effects  of 
frost  none  are  to  be  found.  This  can  be  explained  in  part 
by  recalling  the  conditions  holding  good  in  summer. 
Having  a  northern  exposure,  it  lost  none  of  its  moisture 
through  exposure  to  the  direct  sunlight,  and  while  plant 
life  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  was  withered  and  sere 
throughout  the  dry  weeks  of  August  and  September,  here 
it  was  fresh  and  green  as  in  early  June.  There  was  no 
check  to  its  growth  from  early  spring  until  late  autumn, 
and  so  it  had  vigor  enough  to  withstand  the  ordeal  of  a 
winter's  cold.  This  is  the  apparent  reason,  but,  alas! 
apparent  reasons  are  not  always  the  correct  ones. 

Climbing  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  the  snow-clad  field 
is  again  before  me,  and  with  a  feeling  akin  to  dread  I 
start  across  it.  The  bright  sunshine  is  blinding ;  the  fit- 
ful breeze  is  all  too  keen  for  comfort ;  but  even  here  there 
is  plant  life  that  bids  both  the  wind  and  snow  defiance. 
Trailing  Mitchella,  laden  with  crimson  berries,  brightens 
the  little  circle  of  sod  beneath  a  lone  cedar,  where  no 
plow  appears  ever  to  have  invaded.  A  bit  of  mossy,  gray- 
green  sod  there  has  as  aged  a  look  as  the  old  tree  itself, 
and  this  we  know  has  weathered  the  storms  of  two  centuries 
— an  all-suggestive  bit  of  sod,  upon  which  one  might  fancy 
still  remained  the  imprint  of  an  Indian  moccasin ;  a  bit 
of  sod  that  should  have  been  studded  with  arrowheads, 
and  here,  indeed,  I  found  a  fragment  of  one.  With  the 
whole  world  laid  bare  in  midsummer,  what  matters  a 
mere  speck  of  weedy  ground  ?  Nothing  then,  perhaps — 


298  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

but  now  how  we  treasure  the  little  space  that  the  cedar 
has  shielded  !  It  is  useless  to  attempt  the  spot's  descrip- 
tion ;  a  serious  task  to  enumerate  all  that  might  be 
gathered.  With  a  spray  of  the  partridge  berries  to  re- 
member it,  I  pass  on,  wondering  why  the  season's  first 
snow  is  not  more  suggestive.  My  mind  runs  continually 
upon  what  it  hides  and  not  what  upon  it  is.  The  treasures 
beneath  it  I  am  continually  seeking,  and  give  scarce  a 
thought  to  their  covering.  Even  now,  as  a  quail  whirls 
up  before  me,  bouncing  from  the  little  cluster  of  rag- 
weed, the  snow-dust  in  the  noonday  sun — a  pink  and 
gilded  cloud — is  less  admired  than  the  speedy  but  grace- 
ful flight  of  the  bird.  The  corn-rows  can  still  be  traced, 
and,  although  many  a  one  is  beautifully  arched  with  snow, 
I  lose  sight  of  them  directly  as  the  grass-finch  threads  the 
glittering  maze  before  me,  recalling  what  time  this  same 
bird  ran  in  the  deep  ruts  of  the  dusty  lane  all  summer 
long,  keeping  just  out  of  danger  as  the  carriage  hurried  by. 
The  field  I  am  crossing  ends  at  the  bluff  overlooking 
the  low-lying  meadows,  and  here,  as  at  the  road-side,  the 
transition  is  startling.  What  strange  power  has  made 
way  with  the  snow?  The  leaves  are  again  bare,  and, 
where  they  have  not  enviously  concealed  the  hardier 
growths,  green  plants  cover  much  of  the  ground.  One 
has  but  to  pass  down  the  hill-side  a  few  paces  to  realize 
what  winter  sunshine  may  be,  give  it  half  a  chance.  The 
tops  of  the  tall  trees  are  waving  in  a  wind  that  never 
reaches  the  ground;  and  no  obstacle  intervenes,  except 
the  clouds,  to  shut  out  the  noonday  sun.  It  is  rarely  the 
case  but  that  what  snow  gathers  during  the  night  is  here 
melted  before  night  comes  again;  and  when  the  great 
storms,  such  as  were  more  common  a  century  ago  than  now, 
deeply  covered  even  this  sunny,  southern  slope,  it  was  the 
first  ground  to  reappear  when  the  skies  were  again  clear. 
And  so,  even  now,  in  December,  although 


DECEMBER.  299 

"  Icicles  hang  by  the  wall, 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 
And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail," 

I  can  collect  green  growths  under  the  old  oaks,  and 
make  me  a  nosegay  of  saxifrage,  columbine,  pale  cory- 
dalus,  feverfew,  fleshy  stalks  of  narcissus,  and  dainty 
spring  beauty.  Leaves,  nothing  but  leaves,  remember ; 
but  these  have  grown  in  importance  since  the  flowers  fell, 
and  will  increase  therein  after  the  first  snow  has  been 
long  forgotten,  and  until  the  impatient  buds  bursting 
their  bonds  smile  upon  the  lingering  drifts  of  the  winter's 
last  snow-storm. 

But  winter  is  not  always  so  behindhand ;  not  so  two 
years  ago  when  the  storm-driven  snow-flakes  beat  angrily 
upon  the  windows,  as  if  daring  me  to  face  their  fury; 
while  from  the  trees  came  threats  of  dire  import,  as  their 
bare  branches  lashed  the  whitened  air.  A  long-planned 
outing  seemed  indefinitely  postponed ;  but  New  England's 
December  weather  proved  as  uncertain  as  is  that  of  New 
Jersey,  and  as  quickly  as  the  wind  and  snow  appeared,  so 
they  passed  by. 

As  they  scurried  together  over  the  distant  hills,  leav- 
ing bright  sunshine  in  their  track,  my  companion  and  I 
started  for  a  walk,  hoping,  between  the  acts  of  a  capri- 
cious winter  day,  to  see  the  oaks  at  Waverley. 

It  was  fitting  that  I  should  see  the  spot  where  these 
trees  stood  for  the  first  time  in  winter ;  for  it  was  that 
great  winter  of  many  thousand  years  ago,  the  Glacial 
Epoch,  that  gave  to  the  place  its  present  contour. 

Crossing  an  undulating  meadow  that  was  a  novelty  to 
me  in  that  our  home  lowlands  have  no  projecting  rocks, 
we  reached  one  of  those  strange  and  not  yet  wholly  ac- 
counted for  earth-works  of  the  long  vanished  ice-sheet 
known  to  geologists  as  a  kame ;  and  upon  its  side,  with 


300  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

others,  stands  the  largest  of  the  oaks  that  cluster  here,  a 
majestic  growth  of  mighty  girth — "  the  noblest  Roman  of 
them  all."  For  how  long  it  has  withstood  the  winter 
storms  and  summer  heats  of  New  England's  fickle  climate 
it  were  in  vain  to  conjecture ;  yet,  guided  by  what  is 
known  of  oaks  the  world  over,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  this 
one  had  burst  its  acorn-shell  before  Columbus  sighted  the 
Western  Continent.  And  for  him  who  loves  an  outing, 
it  is  something  to  stand  beneath  the  outreaching  branches 
of  a  tree  that  has  doubtless  sheltered  many  an  Indian, 
and  may  have,  deeply  imbedded  within  it,  the  illy  aimed 
arrowheads  of  the  stone-age  hunter. 

Leaving  the  old  oak  for  a  time,  we  passed  along  the 
curious  heap  of  earth  and  stones  upon  which  it  stands. 
I  can  recall  nothing  that  offers  a  similar  outlook  at 
home  to  that  which  presents  itself  when  walking  on  the 
crest  of  the  kame,  except,  perhaps,  the  high  railroad  bank 
that  skirts  the  Delaware  River  meadows.  Before  reaching 
its  termination,  I  thought  of  the  great  Serpent  Mound  in 
Ohio;  but  this  ice-age  mound  is  straight,  not  tortuous, 
and  suggested  rather  a  legless  lizard  that  had  gorged 
itself  with  loose  stones  until  its  skin  had  burst. 

On  either  side  of  the  kame  was  an  undulating  mead- 
ow, rough  and  wrinkled  with  outcropping  rocks  as  the 
skin  of  a  warty  toad.  Near  by  flows  Beaver  Brook,  which 
I  was  compelled  to  cross,  and  learned  then  and  there  how 
sadly  at  fault  were  my  level-country  legs.  There  is  a 
world  of  comfort  in  feeling  that  your  footing  is  sure. 
The  tussocks  in  the  home  meadows  never  fail  me,  but  I 
had  no  faith  in  those  gloomy,  ice-bespattered  rocks. 
They  seemed  to  take  the  world  quite  coolly,  with  spark- 
ling waters  at  their  feet,  and  armed  cap-a-pie  with  icicles, 
but  I  could  not.  Rocks  and  rapids,  I  maintain,  are  pretty 
features  of  a  road-side,  but  poor  substitutes,  particularly  in 
winter,  for  the  highway  itself.  How  my  companion 


DECEMBER.  301 

crossed  the  brook  I  never  knew ;  I  crept  cautiously,  and 
with  fair  success  reached  grassy  ground  again. 

A  grand  old  elm,  now  much  decayed,  graces  the 
meadow  here,  and  called  up  at  once  some  of  these  splendid 
trees  near  home.  Although  so  very  large,  it  is  not  im- 
probable that  this  tree  at  Waverley  is  much  younger 
than  some  of  the  oaks  near  which  it  stands.  I  know  of 
many  of  great  size  that  have  not  yet  rounded  out  a  cent- 
ury, and  one  in  my  own  yard  that  not  quite  sixty  years 
ago  was  planted  by  my  grandfather — the  tree  being  then 
little  more  than  a  switch — now  measures  over  three  feet  in 
diameter  a  yard  or  more  above  the  ground,  and  at  the 
root  it  covers  half  a  square  rod,  at  least.  Few  would  sus- 
pect it  to  be  so  young  a  tree. 

Why,  when  such  trees  as  are  perfect  specimens  of 
their  kind  stand  near  public  roads,  can  they  not  be  held 
— well,  semi-sacred,  at  least?  Should  not  their  owners 
be  induced  to  let  them  stand?  Indeed,  could  a  com- 
munity do  better  with  a  portion  of  the  public  funds 
than  to  purchase  all  such  trees  for  the  common  good? 
Particularly  is  it  true  of  a  level  country  that  the  only 
bit  of  nature  held  in  common  is  the  sky.  I  would  that 
here  and  there  a  perfect  tree  could  be  added  to  the  list. 
I  have  known  enormous  oaks  to  be  felled  because  they 
shaded  too  much  ground  and  only  grass  could  be  made 
to  grow  beneath  them.  It  is  sad  to  think  that  trees,  re- 
spected even  by  the  Indians,  should  have  no  value  now. 
The  forest  must  inevitably  disappear,  but  do  our  necessi- 
ties require  that  no  monuments  to  it  shall  remain  ? 

My  companion, 

"  Climbing  the  loose-piled  wall  that  hems 
The  road  along  the  mill-pond's  brink," 

led  the  way  to  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  mill  and  old  mill- 
dam  that  is  still  intact,  and  fairly  darted  down  a  stony 


302  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

stairway  such  as  a  chamois  might  admire.  My  thoughts 
were  all  in  one  channel  while  I  followed  ;  but  the  charm 
of  the  falling  waters  compensated  for  the  discomforts  of 
such  superlatively  rough  walking.  The  lichened  rocks, 
ancient  masonry,  scattered  shrubbery,  troubled  waters,  and 
the  fretted  frost-work,  each  beautiful  in  itself,  lent  a  charm 
to  the  whole,  and  but  a  few  birds  were  needed  to  complete 
the  picture.  These  were  wanting,  and  a  single  nest  of  the 
red-eyed  vireo  was  the  only  evidence  that  birds  were  ever 
here ;  and  yet  I  am  assured  that  the  whole  valley  is  alive 
with  warblers  during  the  early  summer.  The  mill- 
dams  harbor  so  much  winter  life  at  home,  even  birds,  that 
its  absence  here  struck  me  the  more  forcibly.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  no  winter  wren  was  spider-hunting  in  the 
wide  gaps  between  those  loose  piled  stones.  But,  this 
late  December  day,  I  could  not  expect  to  find  that 

"  From  'neath  the  arching  barberry  steins, 
My  footstep  scares  the  sly  chewink  ; " 

yet  in  southern  New  Jersey  this  is  no  uncommon  occur- 
rence, for  the  chewink  is  a  hardy  bird,  and  haunts  the 
sunny  nooks  of  the  hill-side  from  early  to  late,  and  some- 
times tarries  the  year  through. 

The  barberry  bushes,  still  holding  their  ruddy  fruit, 
were  the  more  attractive  because  as  yet  we  have  none  on 
our  mill-pond  banks ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  I  failed,  at 
first  sight,  to  recognize  the  privet  growing  here.  At 
home  this  shrub  is  almost  an  evergreen,  and  fruits  but 
sparingly,  while  the  branches  of  the  bushes  along  Beaver 
Brook  were  weighted  with  coal-black  berries,  recalling  the 
ebon  clusters  of  our  glaucous  smilax. 

So  staid  and  steady,  save  when  stirred  by  freshets,  is 
the  flow  of  the  spring  brooks  in  the  Jersey  lowlands  that 
a  roaring  torrent  tossing  over  rocks,  even  when  on  a 
humble  scale,  works  a  potent  spell,  and  I  would  gladly 


DECEMBER.  303 

have  tarried  here  until  the  close  of  day.  It  is  strange, 
though,  that  mere  mechanical  activity  should  be  so  fasci- 
nating. I  have  sat  for  hours  by  a  meadow  brook  at  home, 
seeing  nothing  but  the  rippling  waters,  oblivious  even  to 
the  mosquito's  ominous  hum.  Here,  at  the  mill-pond, 
are  forever  the  same  immovable  rocks,  and  the  waters  that 
lash  them  sing  forever  the  same  song.  It  matters  little, 
whether  we  come  in  June  or  December,  a  bit  whiter  or 
greener  as  the  case  may  be,  yet  we  stand  and  gaze  by  the 
hour,  and,  lulled  by  the  rushing  waters,  are  often  lost  in 
thought.  But  there  are  torrents  of  ever  rushing  life  of 
far  mightier  import  than  mere  troubled  waters,  and  why, 
it  may  well  be  asked,  do  they  so  seldom  attract  us? 
Though  cold  and  forbidding  the  day,  as  I  clambered, 
almost  helplessly,  down  what  my  companion  called  the 
"  steps,"  I  found  in  a  crevice  of  the  mist-dampened 
rocks  a  small  black  spider  that  resisted  all  my  efforts 
to  entrap  him.  Think  of  the  current  of  his  thoughts 
as  they  rushed  through  his  brain !  for  spiders,  be  they 
great  or  small,  are  as  actively  intelligent  as  any  ant  or 
bee. 

Doubtless,  until  within  a  few  weeks  the  icy  waters 
have  sheltered  madcap  life  as  impetuous  in  its  way  as  the 
plunging  currents  that  encompassed  it,  but  it  were  in  vain 
to  seek  for  it  at  such  a  time  as  this.  No  fishes  flash  in 
the  shallows  now ;  no  salamanders  lurk  beneath  the  flat 
stones,  and  beyond,  down  the  stream,  where  hardy  weeds 
have  worked  their  way  through  the  crowded  rocks,  no 
overbrave  frog  lingers  to  contemplate  the  round  of  the 
seasons.  All  have  fled  to  hidden  quarters  beyond  the  reach 
of  some  forbidding  feature  of  the  winter  here,  but  what 
that  feature  is,  who  knows  ?  I  can  now,  far  better  than 
heretofore,  realize  how  many  are  the  differences  between 
localities  but  three  or  four  hundred  miles  apart,  and  how 
widely  the  same  creatures  vary  in  habit,  whether  in  Massa- 


304  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

chusetts  or  New  Jersey ;  a  fact  that  merits  constant  repe- 
tition until  its  full  significance  is  felt. 

Except  the  ceaseless  sound  of  the  falling  waters,  noth- 
ing broke  the  silence  of  the  little  valley.  What  music 
would  we  then  have  had,  had  a  flock  of  tree-sparrows 
settled  in  the  scattered  shrubs !  What  melody,  if,  perched 
upon  the  top  of  a  lone  cedar,  the  cardinal  had  whistled 
his  winter  roundelay!  How  I  longed  for  the  bluebirds 
and  the  crested  tit,  and  placed,  in  my  fancy,  a  Caroli- 
na wren  upon  the  rocks,  where  its  song  would  blend 
with  the  roar  of  the  rushing  waters  about  it.  Could 
the  winter  songs  that  gladden  my  home  hill-side  but  be 
brought  to  this  wild  spot  and  paradise  would  be  almost 
regained. 

It  was  with  unwilling  steps  that  I  turned  from  the 
flashing  water-fall.  That  unchecked  flow  leaping  over 
and  through  the  loose  wall  soothed  me,  as  does  the  moan- 
ing of  pine  trees  or  the  murmur  of  the  sea ;  and  who, 
while  happy,  cares  to  brave  an  uncertain  world  ?  The 
distant  hill-top,  bathed  in  warm  light,  was  so  beautiful 
from  afar  that  one  might  readily  doubt  if  its  merits  would 
increase  by  nearer  acquaintance. 

Following,  as  best  I  could,  my  sure-footed  companion, 
we  crossed  the  valley  and  walked  rapidly  over  steadily 
rising  ground.  Rapidly  ?  He  did,  but  time  and  again  I 
stopped  to  catch  my  breath  and  allow  my  heart  to  become 
less  active.  But  such  halting  progress  has  its  merit.  At 
one  corner  by  an  old  stone  wall  I  flushed  a  partridge. 
The  whirr  of  its  wings  was  indeed  music.  We  had  been 
out  for  hours  and  this  was  the  first  bird  that  I  had  seen 
or  heard.  Then,  noiselessly,  and  high  overhead,  a  spar- 
row winged  its  way  toward  the  woods.  I  listened  for  at 
least  a  chirp,  but  the  bird  was  too  intent  upon  reaching 
some  distant  goal.  As  I  passed  up  the  cleared  field  that 
extends  to  the  summit  of  Helmet  Hill,  I  confidently  ex- 


DECEMBER.  305 

pected  some  visitor  from  Canada,  some  hardy  sparrow 
from  the  Arctic  Circle,  to  flit  across  my  path,  but  I  saw 
not  even  a  stray  feather  floating  in  the  wind.  However 
beautiful  a  country  may  be,  and  the  outlook  here  is  grand, 
I  must  confess  to  a  feeling  of  disappointment  if  there  be  no 
birds.  However  artistic  in  design,  or  complete  in  all  its 
appointments,  it  may  be,  a  deserted  dwelling  has  for  me 
but  little  attraction.  Its  beauty  is  in  proportion  to  the 
evidence  of  the  happiness  of  its  occupants,  and  Helmet 
Hill  in  winter  sadly  needs  what  it  lacked  when  I  was 
there — birds,  birds,  birds  ! 

From  the  hill's  rounded  and  half-wooded  top  we 
looked  westward  awhile  toward  Mount  Wachusett,  whose 
outline  was  but  dimly  discerned,  and  then,  glad  to  escape 
a  cutting  wind,  turned  our  faces  homeward,  and  far  more 
quickly  than  we  went  up,  descended  and  reached  that 
curious  kame  again  upon  which  stand  several  of  the 
Waverley  oaks.  Here  we  again  halted.  The  sunset  it- 
self was  enough  to  hold  us;  but  this  afternoon  the  at- 
mosphere was  of  unusual  clearness,  and  against  the  sun- 
set's ruddy  hues  the  gnarly  branches  and  interwoven 
twigs  of  the  old  oaks  stood  out  in  bold  relief,  presenting 
the  trees  under  a  new,  beautiful,  and  somewhat  novel 
aspect.  Leafless  trees  seen  against  the  gray  winter  sky 
are  familiar  to  many,  and  all  acknowledge  their  beauty ; 
the  same  trees  sharply  limned  upon  a  rich  red  sunset  are  a 
memorable  sight.  The  minutest  twigs  were  as  clearly  de- 
fined as  the  largest  branches ;  while  the  great  rounded 
stumps  of  the  oaks'  amputated  limbs  flecked  the  western 
sky  as  bits  of  the  blackest  storm-cloud  might.  I  was  for- 
tunate in^  seeing  these  noble  trees  at  the  close  of  day 
wrapped  in  such  a  warm  and  mellow  light.  Giants  of 
their  race,  they  stood  in  quiet  repose,  conscious  of  their 
might ;  ready  alike  to  battle  in  their  own  defense  with 
the  fiercest  of  midwinter  storms,  or  offer  shelter,  in  due 
20 


306  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

season,  from  the  hottest  of  midsummer  suns,  to  him  who 
loves  their  shade. 

They  built  no  houses  in  happy  colonial  days  in  which 
the  chimney  was  an  inconspicuous  feature,  hidden  in  the 
end  wall,  and  very  likely  to  prove  a  death-trap,  through 
the  carelessness  or  cupidity  of  the  contractor.  On  the 
contrary,  there  was  erected  an  enormous  chimney,  and 
a  cozy  house  was  built  surrounding  it.  "  Blow,  wind ! 
Come,  wrack ! "  it  mattered  not ;  the  chimney  stood  up 
for  the  house,  and  never  allowed  even  a  hurricane  to 
harry  it. 

Besides  the  fire-places — of  which  more  anon — these 
chimneys  had  other  features  of  merit.  The  sustaining 
arch  in  the  cellar,  in  one  case  at  least,  had  yearly  stored 
therein  the  choice  barrels  of  cider  that  were  not  intended 
for  vinegar — there  was  no  chance  for  change  save  for  the 
better  as  a  beverage.  And  the  weather-stained  bricks 
above  the  roof — they  too  are  worthy  of  consideration.  An 
uncouth  box-shaped  mass,  it  is  true,  but  beautiful  of  a 
keen  winter  day,  when,  after  a  long  tramp,  one  marks  the 
curling  smoke.  However  grotesquely  it  shapes  itself  in 
the  upper  air — whether  it  runs  to  hieroglyph  or  rune,  it 
matters  not.  For  the  chilled  rambler  it  has  but  one 
meaning — comfort. 

A  vacant  hearth  is  as  repellent  as  a  coffin.  It  is  not 
strange  that  in  summer  they  are  screened  by  fire-boards, 
and  these  again  by  high-backed  chairs.  Stately  chairs  that 
overtopped  the  surbase,  and  torturing  to  humanity  to- 
day, were  shunned,  I  doubt  not,  in  the  good  old  times. 
At  least,  I  have  never  had  a  friend  to  remain  long  in  one 
of  my  great-grandmother's  chairs.  Occasionally  a  victim 
drops  into  one,  but  only  to  squirm ;  then  he  arises  and 
stares  at  the  innocent-looking  structure.  I  have  never 
heard  any  remarks,  but  the  countenance,  at  such  times, 


DECEMBER.  307 

speaks  volumes.  Yet  who  could  throw  away  his  great- 
grandmother's  parlor  chairs  ? 

But  it  is  winter  now,  and  the  hearth  is  not  vacant. 
About  it,  in  proper  place,  are  the  andirons,  shovel,  tongs, 
bellows,  face-screens,  and,  never  to  be  ignored,  quaint 
silhouettes  above  the  tall  wooden  mantel  with  its  narrow 
shelf.  Add  to  these  a  generous  supply  of  hickory  blazing 
on  the  hearth,  and  he  who  could  not  be  happy  when 
a  winter  storm  rages  deserves  discomfort  to  his  dying 
day. 

The  dignified  pillars  of  the  bright  brass  andirons 
stand  to-night  like  sentinels  between  me  and  the  fire,  and 
I  would  that  they  were  able  to  cope  with  those  who  will 
raid  upon  the  heaped  up  hickory  in  spite  of  every  form  of 
protest. 

Neither  shovel  nor  tongs  are  essential  to  the  main- 
tenance of  a  wood  fire,  although  the  latter  are  con- 
venient ;  but  I  have  been  tempted  to  spoil  the  hearth's 
appearance  and  remove  them,  because  of  the  meddlesome 
disposition  of  every  adult  visitor.  I  have  yet  to  see  the 
man  who  was  content  to  let  an  open  fire  remain  as  he 
finds  it.  It  seems  to  matter  not  how  cold  he  may  be,  he 
must  rearrange  the  sticks,  before  spreading  his  hands  to 
receive  the  wholesome  heat  of  hickory  coals. 

I  am  told  that  Ben  South,  keeper  of  the  cross-roads 
tavern,  a  century  ago,  determined  that  his  bar-room  fire 
should  remain  unmolested  for  at  least  one  day,  and  to  effect 
this  he  removed  every  bit  of  fire-side  furniture.  He  was 
unsuccessful.  Every  customer  asked  for  the  tongs  before 
asking  for  his  toddy,  and  nine  in  ten  kicked  the  logs — 
the  tenth  burned  his  fingers,  shaking  the  andirons,  and 
threatened  to  withdraw  his  custom.  "  Such  a  fire  as  that 
was  too  unsociable  for  him,"  was  his  remark.  Ben  gave 
up,  and  so  do  I.  I  know  what  is  coming  when  my  city 
friends  drop  in.  The  smile,  the  rubbing  of  the  hands, 


308  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

and  the  suggestive  ah !  all  forewarn  me  of  an  attack  upon 
my  fire.  If  an  angel  from  heaven  were  to  place  the  hick- 
ory in  order  and  every  nickering  flame  was  the  perfection 
of  grace,  it  would  avail  nothing.  There  would  be  instant 
interference  from  the  first  mortal  who  happened  in.  Of 
course,  I  wish  each  one  of  my  friends  to  consider  himself 
the  exception  that  proves  the  rule ;  at  the  same  time,  I 
would  have  all  my  readers,  who  know  me  not,  understand 
that  there  are  no  exceptions. 

The  pretty,  fan-like  screens  for  the  face  that  I  have 
mentioned  have  ever  interested  me  more  than  all  else 
about  the  hearth.  It  requires  some  effort  to  realize  that 
your  great-grandmother  was  once  a  girl,  but  it  is  true,  and 
what  might  not  these  neatly  decorated  bits  of  board,  which 
shielded  her  pretty  but  not  painted  face — what  might 
they  not  tell  us,  could  they  but  speak  !  How  steadily  have 
bright  eyes  gazed  upon  them  that  dared  not  look  up; 
how  stealthily  have  they  glanced  aside,  meeting  other  eyes, 
yet  shielded  from  all  the  company.  Can  it  be  possible 
that  in  a  quiet  way  there  was  a  mild  form  of  flirtation 
even  among  the  early  Quakers  ?  These  screens  hint  at  it ; 
and  we  do  know  that  they  were  always  widely  awake  to 
all  the  world's  real  worth — witty,  fond  of  literature,  nor 
accounted  it  vanity  to  see  themselves  in  print.  It  is  emi- 
nently appropriate  to  take  up  the  volumes  of  the  "  Evening 
Fireside,"  published  eighty  years  ago,  and  read  the  pithy 
prose  and  dainty  verses  of  many  a  young  Friend.  Indeed, 
at  least  one  of  the  contributors  to  this  earliest  of  literary 
weeklies  has  sat  before  my  fire  and  held  these  screens, 
listening,  as  I  do  now,  to  the  moaning  of  the  wind  in  the 
chimney,  singing  then  as  now,  as  her  poetry  shows,  a 
melancholy  song  of  long  ago.  But  how  different  her 
"  long  ago  "  from  mine !  I  think  of  the  time  when  this 
country  was  young,  as  long  ago ;  and  my  great-grand- 
mother then  was  recalling  the  stories  she  had  heard  of  her 


DECEMBER.  309 

parents'  home  in  England;  stories,  it  is  hard  to  under- 
stand why,  that  have  not  been  handed  down. 

It  needs  the  fire's  red  glare  and  sickly  candle-light  to 
animate  the  inky  silhouettes  upon  the  wall.  They  are 
best  stared  at  in  such  a  light  and  when  a  storm  rages. 
The  coziness  of  an  open  fire  leads  to  contemplation,  and 
a  step  further,  to  retrospection.  Fancy  plays  tricks  with 
us  on  a  wild  night,  when  the  north  wind  leaps  from  the 
tall  pines  and  screams  like  a  demon  as  it  swoops  down 
the  chimney,  scattering  the  ash-hidden  sparks  that  gather 
again  in  force  and  rush  headlong  after  the  howling  fiend, 
as  it  seeks  the  outer  world  again.  We  are  ready  for  wild 
fancies  then ;  and  when  the  wind  returns,  as  if  repenting 
of  its  rashness,  mild  of  mood  and  sighing  dolefully,  I  hear 
my  ancestors  uniting  in  a  prayer  to  reassemble  before 
these  andirons  once  again.  Then  the  silhouettes  take 
livelier  shape,  and  one  after  another  slowly  float  before 
me.  What  were  their  whims,  or  were  they  always  as  sober 
as  their  portraits  ?  They  are  puzzles  now ;  for  the  women 
have  head-gear  no  Quaker  ever  wore,  and  the  men 
strange  overhanging  locks  of  hair  that  would  have  en- 
dangered their  status  in  meeting  had  they  ever  worn 
them. 

But  we  must  not  forget  the  fuel,  nor  its  history.  I 
would  not  give  a  fig  for  straight-grained  wood  that  prompt- 
ly turns  to  ashes  without  protest.  Give  me,  rather,  knotty 
and  gnarly  sticks  that  boldly  fight  for  their  crookedness, 
and,  at  last,  become  coals  that  fiercely  glare  at  you  in  im- 
potent rage.  Better  than  all  is  some  old  stump  that  has 
lain  long  upon  the  ground  and  perhaps  been  tunneled  by 
mice  and  beetles,  and  long  the  fortress  of  the  grim,  gray 
spiders  of  the  woods.  These  stumps  do  not  find  their  way 
to  the  wood-pile,  and  are  too  scattered  to  be  gathered  by 
cartloads.  Hence  the  necessity  of  systematic  chunk-hunt- 
ing— a  most  delightful  sport. 


310  DAYS  OUT  Of  DOORS. 

Many  a  curious  adventure  have  I  had,  and,  too,  some 
narrow  escapes.  Once,  from  the  brow  of  a  steep  slope,  I 
attempted  to  dislodge  a  cedar  stump.  Long  I  tugged  at 
it  and  made  slow  but,  as  I  thought,  sure  progress.  Sud- 
denly it  gave  way,  and  with  a  mixed  but  otherwise  inde- 
scribable sensation  I  rolled  with  it  to  the  ditch  below. 
The  stump  won  the  race,  and  I  collected  my  senses  while 
sitting  upon  it.  Bruised  as  I  was,  I  shouldered  it,  and 
that  night  nursed  myself  by  the  genial  warmth  it  gave, 
as  the  substantial  back-log  of  my  open  fire.  Next  to  the 
gathering  of  a  night's  supply  of  wood  when  in  camp,  for 
solid  satisfaction,  is  chunk-hunting ;  and  I  have  no  pa- 
tience with  a  heartless  critic  at  my  elbow  who  suggests 
that  the  pastime  illustrates  a  peculiar  phase  of  human 
nature.  "  If,"  she  says,  "  the  chunk-hunter  is  asked  to 
carry  twenty  pounds  to  a  neighbor's  house,  he  is  helpless 
at  once ;  but  forty  pounds  have  been  carried  twice  as  far, 
and  no  hint  of  fatigue  escaped  the  hunter  as  he  marched 
in  triumph  to  the  fire-place."  It  is  prudent  not  to  re- 

Pty- 

It  was  on  the  eve  of  a  storm  when  I  gathered  the 
chunk  now  upon  the  andirons — a  half  of  a  persimmon 
stump.  It  is  garnished  with  windfalls  from  the  oaks  and 
beeches,  and  all  goes  well.  This  bit  of  a  persimmon  tree 
has  a  history,  too ;  as  I  dragged  it  from  the  mat  of  leaves 
and  sand  that  had  been  accumulating  for  several  years,  I 
unearthed  a  colony  of  mole-crickets.  Perhaps  the  associ- 
ation was  accidental,  but  there  were  certainly  a  hundred  of 
them,  huddled  in  a  little  space.  They  did  not  stridulate 
when  disturbed,  and  scarcely  squirmed,  but  all  appeared 
to  be  alive.  These  are  among  the  creatures,  I  have 
learned,  that  fill  the  air  at  night  with  an  unceasing  dis- 
syllabic thrill,  from  early  in  August  until  after  frost.  I 
find  them  credited  with  singing  in  spring  and  early  sum- 
mer, a  statement  that  does  not  hold  good  of  the  species 


DECEMBER.  311 

found  to-day.  The  last  song  of  this  cricket  heard  this 
year  was  October  18th,  and  my  companion  caught  it  in 
the  act.  There  was  not  the  same  vim  in  its  stridulation 
that  marks  a  hot  night  in  August,  but  it  was  unmistaka- 
bly the  same  sound ;  and  with  it  was  heard  a  full  chorus 
of  croaking  green  frogs,  for  these,  unlike  their  spotted 
cousins,  croak  even  during  the  winter  months. 

It  was  on  the  eve  of  a  storm  when  I  gathered  the 
wood ;  it  was  raining  when  I  settled  by  my  fire.  The  crick- 
ets that  I  had  thoughtlessly  left  exposed,  perhaps  to  die, 
disturbed  my  thoughts.  I  hoped  their  sluggish  senses 
might  so  far  revive  that  they  could  burrow  out  of  harm's 
way.  Then,  for  a  time  a  burrowing  cricket  myself,  I  wan- 
dered among  the  roots  of  the  hill-side  trees ;  wandered 
until  long  past  midnight,  a  victim  of  my  own  cruelty ; 
and  then,  in  very  truth,  found  myself,  a  chilled  mortal, 
with  cold  ashes,  face  to  face. 

The  lotus  and  the  lily  are  no  more.  Through  the  clear 
ice  upon  the  meadow  pools  I  can  see  but  shriveled  ghosts 
of  noble  plants  that  bore,  the  summer  through,  the  queen- 
liest  of  flowers.  The  royal  lotus,  once  the  pride  of  Egypt, 
tall,  stately,  and  commanding ;  the  modest  lily,  unassum- 
ing, but  sure  to  receive  its  full  share  of  recognition.  Now, 
at  Christmas-tide,  these  flowers  are  but  vivid  memories  at 
the  best,  and  the  wide  wild  meadows,  save  where  streakily 
shaded  by  the  leafless  trees,  are  evenly  coated  with  dreary, 
death-like  brown,  nature's  funereal  tint. 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  crackle  of  dead  grass  and 
rustling  of  decaying  leaves  should  jar  upon  the  rambler's 
ears ;  they  are  sounds  that  would  drive  him  houseward, 
were  it  not  that  from  afar  come  the  welcome  cawing  of 
the  crow,  the  cracked-flute  calling  of  the  prowling  jay,  the 
twitter  of  tree-sparrows,  and  fife-like  exultation  of  the 
crested  tit.  These  are  sounds  to  revive  the  depressed  and 


312  DATS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

breathe  a  new  soul  into  his  declining  faith.  So  it  was,  at 
least,  when  I  last  turned  meadowward,  bent  upon  a  ram- 
ble, caring  not  where  nor  how  long,  merely  hopeful  of 
finding  some  green  spot. 

It  is  true  the  cedars  and  the  pine  trees  are  green, 
and,  where  the  hill-foot  springs  are  bubbling,  ferns  still 
hold  their  freshness,  but  it  is  a  weariness  to  the  flesh 
to  sit  all  day  in  a  tree-top,  even  when,  by  so  doing, 
you  keep  company  with  the  birds ;  and  then  one  can  not 
enter  the  little  territory  of  a  single  spring.  While  he 
gathers  summer  in  his  arms,  Jack  Frost  is  tugging  at  his 
heels.  Between  green  growths  and  the  snow-bank  you 
can  not  lay  your  cane  without  encroaching  upon  both.  Is 
there  no  greater  green-clad  spot  than  a  hill-foot  spring  ? 

The  birds'  songs  cease,  as  I  pass  from  the  hill-side,  on 
my  quest  for  color,  but  ears  and  eyes  must  be  separately 
humored  in  midwinter,  and  I  turn  to  the  glowing  win- 
terberry  and  climbing  bittersweet  with  pleasure,  where 
they  make  an  almost  vain  effort  to  restore  the  summer 
freshness  of  vine-tangled  fences,  and  then  pass  on  to  an 
uncertain  glow  of  green  in  the  heart  of  a  smilax  wilder- 
ness ;  but  attempting  to  pass  through  it  proves  the  ver- 
dancy to  be  more  a  feature  of  yourself  than  of  it. 

The  thin  vaulted  ice  roofs  that  protect  the  ditches' 
banks  shut  in  long  strips  of  green  that  need  a  sharp  eye 
to  detect ;  and  here  crouch  hardy  spotted  frogs,  patiently 
waiting  for  spring  or  the  January  thaw,  and  never  so  stiff- 
ened with  cold  but  that  they  can  leap  into  the  depths 
when  my  shadow  warns  them.  They  sprawl  into  the  gray 
mud  that  a  moment  before  was  but  the  smooth  floor  for 
the  liquid  crystal  that  sparkled  above  it — now  the  current 
is  a  troubled  flow  of  smoky  quartz.  There  is  ever  a  bit  of 
summer  lingering  by  the  brook-side,  but  ever  too  small  a 
bit  to  satisfy. 

But  afar,  beyond  my  neighbor's  pasture  and  over  Poset- 


DECEMBER.  313 

quissings  Creek,  I  see  a  film  of  smoke  that  hovers  in  the 
still  air  above  a  treacherous  meadow.  The  tract  is  as  level 
as  a  table-top,  rankly  sodded  as  a  well-tended  lawn,  but 
lacks  firmness  below.  William  Penn  might  have  written 
his  "  Sandy  foundations,  shaken,"  while  walking  there ; 
but  he  never  came,  I  know,  although  his  manor-house  and 
brewery  are  almost  within  sight. 

What  the  "  smoke  "  might  be  I  conjectured  as  I  bent 
my  steps  that  way;  and  at  last  my  hoped-for  green 
Christmas  was  veritably  before  me.  Brown  trees,  brown 
moss,  brown  hedges,  and  brown  grass ;  even  the  ice  was 
dusty ;  the  country  everywhere  was  dripping  with  dreari- 
ness but  at  this  one  spot.  The  supposed  smoke  was  really 
mist,  mellowed  by  the  sunlight,  and  beneath  it  was  a 
rank,  tropically  rank  green  forest,  which  for  birds  and 
butterflies  harbored  fish,  frogs,  and  salamanders. 

As  a  small  picture  usually  looks  well  within  a  walnut 
frame,  so  the  deep  brown  of  the  frost-bitten  world  proved 
a  suitable  surrounding  here ;  and  the  picture  was  covered, 
that  no  rude  wind  should  mar  it,  with  water,  now  so 
smooth  and  clear,  except  where  the  upward  current 
reached  the  surface,  that  no  image  was  distorted,  or  any 
object,  however  small,  obscured. 

As  a  tired,  homeless  wanderer  in  a  city  seeks  to  find 
rest  and  warmth  by  peering  into  the  windows  of  some 
Croesus's  house,  so  I  forgot  that  it  was  winter  where  I  stood, 
seeing  only  the  perpetual  summer  of  my  neighbor's  great 
meadow  spring.  To  merely  witness  the  life  and  beauty 
there  made  me  forget  that  I  had  long  since  lost  hold  of 
my  own  youthful  vigor,  and  must  soon  return  to  a  dreary 
world,  perhaps  both  cold  and  hungry.  For  a-  time  these 
weaknesses  were  likewise  forgotten ;  and  this,  I  take  it,  is 
next  akin  to  annihilating  them.  Before  me  was  as  near 
the  fabled  youth-renewing  spring  as  I  have  hopes  of  find- 
ing, and  it  is  a  discovery  I  would  be  well  pleased  to  make. 


314  DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 

He  who  regrets  not  his  lost  youth  may  make  an  excellent 
angel,  but  has  proved  his  manhood  to  have  been  de- 
fective. 

And  now  let  us  consider  the  main  features  of  this 
noble  spring.  It  is  never  frozen.  The  vast  volume  of 
water,  rushing  upward  from  a  silvery  sand-pit,  twenty 
feet  below  the  meadow's  surface,  varies  but  a  degree  or  two 
the  year  round.  With  this  great  depth  is  proportionate 
width,  and  a  pond  fifty  feet  in  diameter  is  not  insignifi- 
cant in  these  monotonous  meadows ;  while  as  a  spring  it 
is  worthy  of  notice,  even  where  nature  is  on  a  grander 
scale  than  here. 

But  why  call  it  green?  Colorless  water  and  white 
sand ;  let  the  sunlight  play  what  tricks  it  my,  it  will  never 
make  them  green.  True,  but  with  them  grow,  in  rank  pro- 
fusion, beautiful  water  starwort,  a  water  spearwort,  and 
that  dainty  aquatic  growth,  Nitella ;  and  of  late,  a  splendid 
water  moss  that  threatens  to  crowd  out  the  other  growths ; 
while  hard  by  the  common  water-weed  covers  the  bottom 
of  the  spring's  overflow,  making  a  beautiful  background 
for  the  brighter  and  lighter  colored  starwort.  Do  you 
wonder  why  I  call  it  green  at  this  time  and  place  ?  That 
is,  surely,  the  predominating  color. 

And  that  such  favored  nooks  are  beloved  of  water 
animals  is  not  strange.  With  what  a  stony  glare  the  pike 
looks  up  at  me,  as  I  stand  by,  motionless;  but  trusts 
nothing  if  I  move  my  arms.  Then  he  is  afar  off  on  the 
other  side,  as  I  see  by  the  quivering  of  the  rank  water 
weeds  that  would  puzzle  any  other  creature  to  penetrate. 
As  he  goes,  the  dainty  newts  peep  from  their  leafy  quarters, 
stretch  themselves  in  the  open  water,  and  are  gone ;  while 
ever  and  anon  the  brilliant  leopard-frog  rises  up  to  the 
surface,  sniffs  at  the  outer  air,  and  seeks  repose  again  in 
the  sandy  depths. 

There  is  no  moment  of  the  year  when  this   spring 


DECEMBER.  315 

basin  is  more  full  of  vigorous,  active  life  than  now,  when 
it  has  greener  growths,  or  creatures  more  alive  to  their 
own  little  world ;  yet  we  are  wont  to  think  of  winter  as 
a  dead  season ;  or,  if  not  dead,  sleeping. 

And  I  recall  now  a  holiday  visit  years  ago,  when  the 
snow  covered  all  the  ground,  and  a  biting  north  wind 
screamed  through  the  naked  branches  of  the  oaks  near 
by.  It  was  the  same  spring  then.  Long  I  lingered  by  its 
side,  forgetful  of  all  else,  and,  as  the  day  closed,  suddenly 
a  flood  of  sunlight  swept  over  the  meadows.  The  win- 
dows of  my  neighbor's  house  were  all  aflame.  Color, 
color  everywhere,  as  I  glanced  for  the  last  time  into  the 
crystalline  depths  before  me,  over  the  wide  meadows 
about  me,  over  the  cloud-flecked  horizon  beyond  the 
distant  hills.  A  melting  rainbow  showered  the  whole 
world ;  but  for  me,  it  was  then,  and  ever  will  be,  here,  a 
green  Christmas. 


INDEX. 


Abies  canadensis,  111. 
Abercromby,  Ralph,  quoted,  261. 
Acer,  sp.,  111. 
Acipenser  brevirostris,  66. 

sturio,  56. 
Acorns,  252. 

Acris  crepitans,  34,  37,  273. 
Adams  County,  Ohio,  146. 
Aegialitis  melodus,  158. 

vociferus,  110. 
Aegiothus  linarius,  24. 
Agclaius  phoeniceus,  47,  194. 
Aix  sponsa,  221. 
Alosa  sapidissima,  65. 
Amelanchier  canadensis,  1 35. 
Ampelopsis  quinquefolia,  242,  266. 
Anderson's  tree-toad,  117. 
Andromeda  mariana,  83. 
Anguilla  acutirostris,  97. 
Anixi  gischuch,  9. 
Antrostomus  vociferus,  103. 
Ants,  115. 

nests  of,  115 

Apple  orchards,  ancient,  244. 
April,  74. 

showers,  76. 

snow-storms,  74. 
Aquilegia  canadensis,  111,  299. 
Ardea  herodias,  24,  42. 
Arenaria  squarrosa,  125. 
Arvicola  riparia,  15,  39,  41,  43. 
Aspen,  111,  113. 
Aspidonectes  spinifer,  222. 
Aster,  194,  215,  228,  265. 
August,  189. 


Babcock's  Creek,  Atlantic  County, 

N.  J.,  199. 
Barberry,  302. 
Bay,  20. 

Bay-winged  bunting,  186. 
Beach  plum,  125. 
Beech,  44,  61,  63,  167,  267. 
Beetles,  250. 
Bernicla  canadensis,  53. 
Betulalenta,  111. 

nigra,  47,  64. 
Big  Bird  Creek,  79,  86. 
Birch,  black,  47,  64. 

sweet,  111. 
Birds,  abundance  of,  in  winter,  214. 

carnivorous  habits  of,  186. 

intelligence  of,  28. 

migration  of,  28. 

of  New  Jersey,  29. 
Bittern,  88. 

least,  141. 

Bittersweet,  271,  312. 
Blackberry,  198. 
Blackbirds,    red-winged,    47,   194, 

258,  284. 
Blood-root,  92. 

Bluebirds,  12,  24,  66,  145,  187. 
Bluets,  89,  97,  191. 
Bonaparte,  Joseph,  64,  134. 
Bonasa  umbellus,  304. 
Bordentown,  N.  J.,  64. 
Botaurus  lentiginosus,  88. 
Box  tortoise,  190. 
Brayton,  A.  M.,  quoted,  147,  292. 
Brewer,  T.  M.,  quoted,  104. 


318 


DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


Bristol,  Penn.,  crow-roost  near,  220. 
Brush  Creek,  Adams  County,  Ohio, 

221,  232,  292. 
Bull-frog,  32,  37. 
Burlington  Island,  N.  J.,  219. 
Burroughs,  John,  67. 
Buttercups,  97. 
Buzzard-weed,  126. 

Callitriche  heterophylla,  314. 
Caltha  palustris,  134. 
Cambarus,  sp.,  148,  221. 
Cardinal  grosbeak  —  red-bird  —  47, 

134,  185,  221,  232. 
Cardinalis  virginianus,  47,  134,  185, 

221,  232. 
Carya  alba,  268. 
Cassandra  calyculata,  83. 
Castanea  vesca,  60,  64. 
Catalpa  bignonioides,  64. 
Cat- bird,  70,  94,  124,  160,  177,  187, 

274,  277. 
Cat,  wild,  116. 
Cedar,  65,  135. 

Cedars,   "  Islands "  of    (Cupressus 
thyoides),  124. 

swamp,  108. 

Celastrus  scandens,  271,  312. 
Centipedes,  250. 
Ceryle  alcyon,  44,  88,  90,  94. 
Chat,  yellow-breasted,  132. 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  quoted,  76. 
Chelydra  serpentina,  98. 
Cherry,  wild,  111. 
Chestnut,  60,  64. 
Chewink,  88,  94,  123,  161. 
Chickadee,  96. 

Chimaphila  umbellata,  20,  83. 
Chimney  swift,  163. 
Chincapin,  215. 
Chipmunk,  116,  161. 
Chipping  sparrow,  90,  94. 
Chrysomitris  pinus,  66. 

tristis,  91. 
Chub,  113. 

Chwame  gischuch,  65. 
Cladonia  cristatale,  123. 
Claytoniavirginica,  48,  62,  89,  299. 
Cohansey  Creek,  N.  J.,  104. 
Columbine,  111,  299. 
Concord,  Mass.,  98. 


Conoclinium  coelestinum,  227. 
Conrad,  T.  A.,  quoted,  186. 
Cornus  florida,  252. 
Corvus  americanus,  16,  23,  45,  47, 

59,  66,  88,  134,  149,  162,  181, 

256,  265,  295,  311. 
Corydalus  glauca,  299. 
Cowpen  bird,  263. 
Crayfish,  148,  221. 
Crosswicks,  N.  J.,  81. 
great  oak  at,  166. 
meeting-house  at,  255. 
Creek,  283,  286. 
Croton-bug,  35. 
Crow,  16,  23,  45,  47,  59,  66,  88, 134, 

149,  162,  181,  256,   265,  295, 

311. 

Crow-blackbird,  179. 
Crow-foot,  floating,  110. 
Crow-roosts,  218. 
Cumberland  County,  N.  J.,  104. 
Cyanurus  cristatus,  27,  85,  232,  270, 

311. 

Cyprinidse,  43,  153. 
Cypripedium  acaule,  121. 

Dandelion,  192,  265. 
December,  294. 

De  Kay,  James  E.,  quoted,  200. 
Delaware  Indians,  9,  75,  81,  294. 
Delaware  River,  53,  55,  283. 

fisheries  of,  55. 

valley  of,  9,  220. 
Dendrojca  Blackburniae,  113. 
,  palmarum,  90. 

virens,  105. 
Dentaria  laciniata,  88. 
Dicentra  cucularia,  97. 
Diospyrus  virginiana,  64. 
Dittany,  215. 
Divers,  57. 
Dog- wood,  252. 
Drosera,  sp.,  125,  199. 
Duck,  wild,  284. 
"  Dutchman's  breeches,"  97. 

Eagle,  256. 

Earth  stars,  123. 

Ectobia  germanica,  35. 

Eel,  97. 

Egret,  snowy,  196. 


INDEX. 


319 


Elder,  red-berried,  111. 
Elm,  301. 

Eumeces  fasciatus,  112,  114. 
Euryomia  inda,  88. 

Fagus  ferruginea,  44,  61,  63,  167, 

267. 

False  ipecac,  199. 
February,  34. 
Ferns,  266. 
Feverfew,  299. 

Fiber  zibethicus,  16,  23,  116. 
Finch,  fox-colored,  61. 
Fish,  intelligence  of,  155. 
Fish-bones,  preservation  of,  55. 
Fish-crow,  138. 
Fish-hawk,  57. 
Flagg,  Wilson,  quoted,  105. 
Flicker,  139,  174. 
Florence  Heights,  N.  J.,  219. 
Fly -catcher,  great-crested,  187. 

green-crested,  232. 
Foliage,  second  growth  of,  191. 
Freshets,  16. 
Fringilla  linota,  275. 
Frog,  green,  248. 
Frogs,  31,  43,  117,  177,  196,  271 

286,  303. 

Galeoscoptes  carolinensis,  70,  94, 
124,  160,  177,  187,  274,  277. 

Gcaster  hygrometricum,  123. 

Geese,  wild,  53. 

Gnatcatchers,  blue-gray,  91. 

Godman,  Dr.  John,  quoted,  291. 

Golden  club,  128. 

Golden-rod,  194,  215,  227,  265, 
285. 

Gold-finch,  European,  276. 

Goniaphea  ludoviciana,  94. 

Grakle,  88,  185,  190. 

Grape  hyacinth,  89. 

Grape-vine,  198. 

Grapta  insculpta,  86. 

Grass-finch,  67,  295. 

Gray  lizard,  198. 

Great  Egg  Harbor  River,  122,  127. 

Grosbeak,  rose-breasted,  94,  193. 

Gull,  black-headed,  59. 

Gulls,  57. 

Gum  tree,  64,  80,  82,  125. 


Haliaetus  leucocephalus,  255. 

Harporhynchus  rufus,  100. 

Hawk,  pigeon,  258. 

Hawks,  16,  61. 

Heart's-ease,  97. 

Heckewelder,   Rev.   John,   quoted, 

213. 
Helianthcmum    corymbosum,    125, 

131. 

Helenium  autumnale,  256. 
Hemlock,  111. 
Ilepatica  triloba,  92. 
Heron,  great  blue,  24,  42,  134. 

night,  36,  43,  265. 
Hickory,  shell-bark,  268. 
Holbrook,  Dr.  J.  E.,  quoted,  200. 
Hopatcong,  Lake,  105,  108,  210. 

meaning  of  word,  117. 
Houstonia  cerulea,  89,  97. 
Hubbard,  Bela,  quoted,  280. 
Iludsonia  ericoides,  119,  131,  199. 
Hyla  Andersonii,  177. 

Pickeringii,  37,  248,  264,  271. 
Hy lodes  (Acris  wepitans),  34,  37, 

273. 
Hylotomus  pileatus,  122. 

Icterus  baltimore,  106. 
Indian  relics,  117,  132. 

summer,  278. 

Indians,  Delaware,  9,  102,  156,  285, 
286. 

of  New  Jersey,  117,  131. 
Indigo  finch,  123. 
Insect  life,  16,  22. 
Ipecac,  false,  120. 
Iron-weed,  228. 

January,  9. 

thaw,  12. 

Jay,  blue,  27,  85,  232,  270,  311. 
Jefferies,  Richard,  17. 
July,  167. 

Junco  hyemalis,  66. 
June-berry,  135. 
Juniper,  65. 
Juniperus  communis,  65. 

virginiana,  65. 

Kalmia  angustifolia,  125,  131. 
Katydid,  194. 


320 


DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


Kennicott,  Robert,  quoted,  147. 
King,  T.  Starr,  quoted,  77. 
King-bird,  256. 
Kingfisher,  44,  88,  90,  94. 
Kinglet,  golden-crowned,  82. 

ruby-crowned,  29. 
Kinglets,  40. 
Kitschitachquoach  giscliuch,  213. 

Lambkill,  125,  131. 

Lark,  meadow,  61. 

Le  Conte,  John,  quoted,  203. 

Leiophyllum  buxifolium,  125. 

Lenni  LenapS.  (See  Delaware  In- 
dians.) 

Lepomis  gibbosus,  98,  109. 

Lepus  sylvaticus,  265. 

Leucanthemum  parthenium,  299. 

Leucothoe  racemosa,  126. 

Lichen,  scarlet- blooming,  123. 

Lichens,  83,  86. 

Ligustrum  vulgare,  266,  302. 

Lily,  water,  124,  311. 

Linaria  canadensis,  125. 

Lindera  benzoin,  29 

Lindsay,  W.  Lauder,  quoted,  28. 

Linnet,  European,  275. 

Liquidambar  styraciflua,  64,  266. 

Lizard,  gray,  198,  234,  238. 

Log-cock,  122. 

Lophophanes  bicolor,  21,  40,  47, 
96. 

Lotus,  216,  311. 

Lubbock,  Sir  John,  quoted,  151. 

Lupine,  125. 

Lutra  canadensis,  98,  116. 

Lynx  rufus,  116. 

Macloskie,    Prof.   George,   quoted, 

204. 

Magnolia  glauca,  20. 
Mammoth,  284. 
Mandrake,  88. 
Maple,  111,  266. 
March,  49. 

winds,  56,  60. 
Marsh  marigold,  134,  192, 
Martin,  purple,  94. 
Maryland  yellow-throat,  161. 
Mastodon,  284. 


May,  102. 

May's  Landing,  village  of,  88,  119, 

199,  201. 
oaks  at,  119. 

M'chakhocque  gischuch,  295. 
Meadow-lark,  61,  295. 
Melanerpes  erythroccphalus,  94. 
Melospiza  melodia,  25,  39,  62,  66, 

88,  124,  178,  186,  247. 
Mice,  wild,  85,  261. 
Mimus  polyglottus,  122,  181. 
Mink,  16,  142,  232. 
Minnows,  43,  85,  97,  153,  162. 
Mist-flower,  227. 
Mistletoe,  82,  125. 
Mitchella,  296. 

Mniotilta  varia,  124,  171,  257. 
Mocking-bird,  122,  181. 
Mole-cricket,  217,  310. 
Moose,  284. 

Morris  County,  N.  J.,  104. 
Mount  Wachusett,  305. 
Mouse,  common,  177. 

jumping,  15,  285. 
Muscari  botryoides,  89. 
Musk-rats,   16,  23,   116,   146,  190, 

284. 
Mussels  (  Unios),  146. 

Nelumbium  luteum,  216. 

speciosum,  216,  311. 
New  Jersey,  birds  of,  29. 
Niagara  Falls,  63. 

River,  79. 

Night  heron,  36,  43,  265. 
Nitella,  sp.,  314. 
November,  260. 
Nuphar  ad  vena,  56,  216. 
Nuthatch,  white-bellied,  174,  263. 
Nycticorax  nsevius,  36,  43,  265. 
Nymphea  odorata,  124,  311. 
Nyssa  multiflora,  64,  80,  82,  98. 

Oak,  pin,  255. 

post,  268. 

scarlet,  100. 

white,  81,  98. 
Oaks,  44,  64,  80,  135,  254. 
October,  242. 
Orange,  N.  J.,  104. 


INDEX. 


321 


Orchids,  121. 

Oriole,    Baltimore,  106,  124,    187, 

190,  277. 

Orontium  aquaticum,  128,  134. 
Otter,  98,  116,  135. 
Oven-bird,  113,  123. 

Palaeolithic  man,  traces  of,  93. 

Pandion  haliaetus,  57. 

Parula  americana,  104. 

Parus  atricapillus,  96. 

Partridge,  304. 

Passerella  iliaca,  61. 

Peabody  Museum  of    Archaeology, 

Cambridge,  Mass.,  227. 
Pewee,  61,  71,  190,  286. 

wood,  169 

Peirce,  Charles,  quoted,  79,  281. 
Pentstemon  pubescens,  192. 
Persimmon,  64. 
Philadelphia,  Pa.,  81. 
Phoradendron  flavescens,  82. 
Pickering's  hyla,  37,  248. 
Pigeon  Swamp,  Bucks  County,  Pa., 

218. 

Pike,  162. 
Pine-finch,  66. 
Pine,  three-leaved,  120. 

two-leaved,  120. 

white,  47.  64,  95. 
Pines,  120. 
Pin-oak,  90. 

Pinus  strobus,  47,  64,  95. 
Pipilo  erythrophthalmus,  123. 
Pitcher-plant,  86,  123. 
Platanus  occidentalis,  42,  61. 
Plover,  kill-deer,  110,  233. 

piping,  158. 

Poaetquissings  Creek,  98. 
Podicipidse,  57. 
Podophyllum  pcltatum,  88. 
Poison  ivy,  198. 
Polioptila  ccrulea,  91. 
Poccetes  gramineus,  67,  186,  295. 
Populus  tremuloides,  111,  113. 
Prince's  pine,  296. 
Prinos  verticillata,  271,  312. 
Privet,  266,  302. 
Proctor,  Thomas,  quoted,  275. 
Procyon  lotor,  116. 
Progne  subis,  94. 
21 


Prunus  maritima,  125. 

serotina,  111. 
Putnam,  Professor  F.  W.,  quoted, 

223. 

Putorius  vison,  16. 
Pyranga  erythromelas,  106. 
Pyxidanthera  barbulata,  84,  119. 
"Pyxie,"  84,  119. 

Quail,  186,  221,  228. 
Quercus  alba,  81,  98. 

coccinea,  100. 

obtusiloba,  268. 

palustris,  90. 
Quiscalus  purpureus,  88. 
Quitauweuhewi  gischuch,  75. 

Rabbit,  265. 
Raccoon,  116,  232. 
Rail,  king,  141. 

Virginia,  36,  141,  247. 
Rainfall,  remarkable,  189. 
Rallus  elegans,  141. 

virginianus,  36,  247. 
Rana  clamitans,  248. 
Ranunculus  bulbosus,  97. 

multifidus,  110. 

aquatilis,  314. 
Red-bird,  47. 
Redstart,  106,  186. 
Read,  Professor  M.  C.,  quoted,  224. 
Reed-birds,  194. 
Regulus  calendula,  29,  88. 

satrapa,  88. 

Reindeer  moss,  83,  120. 
Rhoades,  S.  W.,  quoted,  218. 
"  River  Styx,"  108. 
Robin,  66,  77,  161,  169,  190,  258. 
Rock-rose,  125,  131. 
Rocky  Woods,  Bucks  County,  Pa., 

218. 

Rose-mallow,  195. 
Ruticilla  setophaga,  106,  186. 

Salix  nigra,  137. 
Salamander,  red-backed,  250. 

yellow,  22. 

Salamanders,  177,  303. 
Salmo  salar,  93. 
Salmon,  93. 
Sambucus  pubens,  111. 


322 


DAYS  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


Sand  myrtle,  125. 
Sandpiper,  spotted,  136. 
Sand  wort,  125. 
Sanguinaria  canadensis,  92. 
Sarracenia  purpurea,  83,  123,  199. 
Sassafras,  20,  64. 

officinale,  20,  64. 

Savannah  cricket.     (See  Hylodes.) 
Saxifrage,  296. 
Say,  Thomas,  quoted,  203. 
Sayornis  fuscus,  61,  71. 
Scaphiopus  Holbrookii,  37. 
Sciuropterus  volucella,  9,  18. 
Sciurus  Hudsonius,  85,  116. 
Seiurus  auricapillus,  113. 
Semotilus  bullaris,  113. 
September,  213. 
Serpent    Mound,    Adams   County, 

Ohio,  146,  223,  300. 
Shad,  55. 

fisheries,  137. 
Shell-heaps,  Indian,  55. 
Shrews,  20. 
Shrike,  Southern,  181. 

Northern,  181. 

Sialia  sialis,  12,  24,  66,  145,  187. 
Skink,  112,  114,  210. 
Skunk,  232. 

Smilacina  bifolia,  92,  110. 
Smilax,  27,  33,  312. 

glauca,  302. 

rotundifolia,  27,  33. 
Snake,  black,  240. 

garter,  240. 

water,  265. 
Snow,  25,  74. 
Snow-birds,  66. 
Soricidae  (shrews),  20. 
Spade-foot  toad,  37. 
Sparrow,  English,  94,  162,  182. 

field,  97. 

song,  25,  39,  62,  66,  88,  124,  178, 
186,  247. 

swamp,  198. 

tree,  23,  33,  40,  47,  66,  311. 

white-throated,  248,  274. 
Sparrow-hawk,  139. 
Spelerpes  bilineata,  22. 
Spice-wood,  29. 
Spider,  cunning  of,  235. 

flying,  237. 


Spiders,  22, 112,  130,  177,  234,  250, 

296,  303. 
Spizella  monticola,  23,  33,  40, 47, 66. 

socialis,  91,  94. 

pusilla,  97. 

Splatter-dock,  56,  145. 
Spring-beauty,  48,  62,  89,  299. 
Squirrel,  flying,  9,  18. 

red,  85,  116. 
Squirrels,  249. 
Stacy,  Mahlon,  quoted,  244. 
Stagger-bush,  83. 
St.  John's-wort,  175. 
Sturnella  magna,  61. 
Sun-dew,  filiform,  124. 
Sundews,  125,  199. 
Sunfish,  98,  109,  154. 
Swallows,  bank,  139. 

barn,  178,  180. 

white-bellied,  94. 
Sweet-fern,  215,  296. 
Sycamore,  42,  232. 

Tachycineta  bicolor,  94. 
Taimas  striata,  116. 
Tanager,  scarlet,  106,  134. 
Tauwinipen  gischuch,  102. 
Thoreau,  H.  D.,  quoted,  98,  169. 
Thrush,  brown,  100,  186. 

hermit,  89. 

wood  (song),  123,  169. 
Thryothorus  ludovicianus,  40,  70. 
Titmouse,  crested,   21,  40,  47,  96, 

124,  197,  232,  270,  311. 
Toad,  common,  34,  117,  129,  178. 

spade-foot,  37. 
Toad-flax,  purple,  125. 
Todd,  J.  E.,  quoted,  68. 
Toothwort,  88. 
Torrey,  Bradford,  70. 
Tree-creeper,  brown,  257,  263. 
Tree-toad,  217. 
Trippe,  T.  M.,  quoted,  104. 
Troglodytes  hyemalis,  24. 
Tropidonotus  sipedon,  15,  109. 
Tsqualli  gischuch,  34. 
Tupelo,  98. 
Turdus  migratorius,  66,  77. 

mustelinus,  89. 

pallasii,  88. 
Turkey-beards,  126,  130. 


INDEX. 


323 


Turk's-cap  lily,  127. 
Turtle,  snapping,  98. 

soft-shelled,  232. 
Turtle-dove,  186. 
Turtles,  16,  149. 
Typha  angustifolia,  195. 
Tyrannus  carolinensis,  256. 

Usnea  ceratina,  83. 
florida,  83. 

Vcndues,  50. 

Vernonia  fasciculata,  228. 

noveboracensis,  256. 
Viburnum,  sp.,  131. 
Viola  tricolor,  97. 
Violets,  89,  97,  192,  265. 
Vireo,  red-eyed,  105,  169. 

warbling,  170. 

white-eyed,  128. 

yellow-throated,  137. 
Vireosylvia  olivacea,  105,  169. 
Virginia  creeper,  242,  266. 
Vulture  (turkey-buzzard),  234. 

Warbler,  Blackburnian,  113. 

black-throated  green,  105. 

black   and   white    tree-creeping, 
124,  171,  257. 

blue  yellow-backed,  104. 

yellow  red-polled,  90. 
Warblers,  136. 
Water-lily,  124,  311. 


Water-snake,  15,  109. 
Water  spear  wort,  314. 

starwort,  314. 

Waverley,  Mass.,  white  oaks  at,  299. 
Weather-lore,  53. 
Weather  prophets,  12,  49. 
Whip-poor-will,  103. 
Wilson,   Alexander,    quoted,    200, 

220. 

Willow,  136. 
Wini  gischuch,  285. 
Winter-berry,  271,  312. 
Wintergreen,  20,  83. 
Winter  wren,  24. 
Wissahickon  Creek,  Pa.,  89. 
Wood-duck,  221. 
Wood-frog,  35,  177,  217. 
Wood-pecker,  red-headed,  94. 
Wood-tattler,  175. 
Wren,  Bewick's,  230. 

Carolina,  40,  70,  270,  304. 

golden-crested,  88. 

house,  169,  178,  180,  187,  276. 

ruby-crowned,  88. 

winter,  24,  302. 

Xerophyllum  setifolium,  127. 
Yellow-bird,  91. 

Zapus  Hudsonius,  15,  285. 
Zeisberger,  Rev.  David,  quoted,  75. 
Zonotrichia  albicollis,  248,  274. 


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by  interesting  biographies  of  the  more  important  inventors.  If,  as  is  contended,  the 
steam-engine  is  the  most  important  physical  agent  in  civilizing  the  world,  its  history 
is  a  desideratum,  and  the  readers  of  the  present  work  will  agree  that  it  could  have  a 
no  more  amusing  and  intelligent  historian  than  our  author." — Boston  Gazette. 

STUDIES  IN  SPECTRUM  ANALYSIS.  By  J.  NORMAN  LOCK- 
YER,  F.  R.  S.,  Correspondent  of  the  Institute  of  France,  etc.  With 
60  Illustrations.  12mo.  Cloth,  $2.50. 

"The  study  of  spectrum  analysis  is  one  fraught  with  a  peculiar  fascination,  and 
some  of  the  author's  experiments  are  exceedingly  picturesque  in  their  results.  They 
are  so  lucidly  described,  too,  that  the  reader  keeps  on,  from  page  to  page,  never 
flagging  in  interest  in  the  matter  before  him,  nor  putting  down  the  book  until  the  last 
page  is  reached.11— New  York  Evening  Express. 


New  York :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  00,'S  PUBLICATIONS, 

ORIGIN  OF  CULTIVATED  PLANTS.  By  ALPIIOXSE  DE  CAN- 
DOLLE.  12mo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 

44  The  copious  and  learned  work  of  Alphonse  de  Candolle  on  the  4  Origin  of 
Cultivated  Plants '  appears  in  a  translation  as  volume  forty-eight  of  '  The  Inter- 
national Scientific  Series.1  Any  extended  review  of  this  book  would  be  out  of 
place  here,  for  it  is  crammed  with  interesting  and  curious  facts.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  the  century  the  origin  of  most  of  our  cultivated  species  was  unknown. 
It  now  requires  more  than  four  hundred  closely  printed  pages  to  sum  up  what 
is  known  or  conjectured  of  this  matter.  Among  his  conclusions  M.  de  Candolle 
makes  this  interesting  statement :  '  In  the  history  of  cultivated  plants  I  have 
noticed  no  trace  of  communication  between  the  peoples  of  the  Old  and  New 
Worlds  before  the  discovery  of  America  by  Columbus.'  Not  only  is  this  book 
readable,  but  it  is  of  great  value  for  reference."— New  York  Herald. 

"Not  another  man  in  the  world  could  have  written  the  book,  and  considering 
both  its  intrinsic  merits  and  the  eminence  of  its  author,  it  must  long  remain  the 
foremost  authority  in  this  curious  branch  of  science.  Of  the  247  plants  here 
enumerated,  199  are  from  the  Old  World,  45  are  American,  and  3  unknown.  Of 
these  only  67  are  of  modern  cultivation.  Curiously,  however,  the  United  States, 
notwithstanding^  its  extent  and  fertility,  makes  only  the  pitiful  showing  of 
gourds  and  the  Jerusalem  artichoke."— Boston  Literary  World. 

FALLACIES:    A  View  of  Logic  from  the   Practical  Side. 

By  ALFRED  SIDGWICK,  B.  A.  Oxon.     12mo.     Cloth,  $1.75. 

41  Even  among  educated  men  logic  is  apt  to  be  regarded  as  a  dry  study,  and  to 
be  neglected  in  favor  of  rhetoric;  it  is  easier  to  deal  with  tropes,  metaphors,  and 
words,  than  with  ideas  and  arguments — to  talk  than  to  reason.  Logic  is  a  study ; 
it  requires  time  and  attention,  but  it  can  be  made  interesting,  even  to  general 
readers,  as  this  work  by  Mr.  Sidgwick  upon  that  part  of  it  included  in  the  name 
of 'Fallacies1  shows.  Logic  is  a  science,  and  in  this  volume  we  are  taught  the 
practical  side  of  it.  The  author  discusses  the  meaning  and  aims,  the  subject- 
matter  and  process  of  proof,  unreal  assertions,  the  burden  of  proof,  non-sequiturs, 
guess-work,  argument  by  example  and  sign,  the  reductio  ad  absurdum,  and  other 
branches  of  his  subject  ably  and  fully,  and  has  given  us  a  work  of  real  value.  It 
is  furnished  with  a  valuable  appendix,  and  a  good  index,  and  we  should  be  glad 
to  see  it  in  the  hands  of  thinking  men  who  wish  to  understand  how  to  reason  out 
the  truth,  or  to  detect  the  fallacy  of  an  argument.1' — The  Churchman. 

THE  ORGANS  OF  SPEECH,  and  their  Application  in 
the  Formation  of  Articulate  Sounds.  By  GEORG  HERMANN 
VON  MEYER,  Professor  of  Anatomy  at  the  University  of  Zurich. 
With  numerous  Illustrations.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

"This  volume  comprises  the  author's  researches  in  the  anatomy  of  the  vocal 
organs,  with  special  reference  to  the  point  of  view  and  needs  of  the  philologist 
and  the  trainer  of  the  voice.  It  seeks  to  explain  the  origin  of  articulate  sounds, 
and  to  outline  a  system  in  which  all  elements  of  all  languages  may  be  co-ordinated 
in  their  proper  place.  The  work  has  obviously  a  special  value  for  students  in 
the  science  of  the  transmutations  of  language,  for  etymologists,  elocutionists, 
and  musicians.11— New  York  Home  Journal. 

44  The  author's  plan  has  been  to  give  a  sketch  of  all  possible  articulate  Hounds, 
and  to  trace  upon  that  basis  their  relations  and  capacity  for  combination."— 
Philadelphia  North  American. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS, 

DARWINISM  STATED  BY  DARWIN  HIMSELF:  Char- 
acteristic  Passages  from  the  Writings  of  Charles  Darwin.  Selected 
and  arranged  by  Professor  NATHAN  SHEPI>ARD.  12mo,  cloth,  360 
pages,  $1.50. 

"A  compact  and  clear  statement  of  the  doctrines  collectively  known  as  Dar» 
•winipm.  By  consulting  this  single  volume  it  is  now  poesible  to  know  exactly  what 
Darwin  taught  without  sifting  the  contents  of  a  dozen  books.  Mr.  Nathan'Shep- 
para  has  edited  the  work  with  good  judgment."— A'ew  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"  Mr.  Sheppard  must  be  credited  with  exemplifying  the  spirit  of  impartial 
truth-seeking  which  inspired  Darwin  himself.  From  these  condensed  results  of 
the  hard  labor  of  selection,  excision,  and  arrangement  applied  to  more  than  a 
dozen  volumes,  it  is  impossible  to  draw  any  inference  respecting  the  philosophi- 
cal opinions  of  the  compiler.  With  the  exception  of  a  brief  preface  there  is  not  a 
word  of  comment,  nor  is  there  the  faintest  indication  of  an  attempt  to  infuse  into 
Darwin's  text  a  meaning  not  patent  there,  by  unwarranted  sub-titles  or  head- 
lines, by  shrewd  omission,  unfair  emphasis,  or  artful  collocation.  Mr.  Shenpard 
has  nowhere  swerved  from  his  purpose  of  showing  in  a  clear,  connected,  and  very 
compendious  form,  not  what  Darwin  may  have  meant  or  has  been  charged  with 
meaning,  but  what  he  actually  said."—  The  Sun. 

MENTAL  EVOLUTION  IN  ANIMALS.  By  GEORGE  J.  ROMANES, 
author  of  "Animal  Intelligence."  With  a  Posthumous  Essay  on 
Instinct,  by  CHARLES  DARWIN.  12mo,  cloth,  $2.00. 

"  Mr.  Romanes  has  followed  up  his  careful  enumeration  of  the  facts  of  'Animal 
Intelligence,'  contributed  to  the  'International  Scientific  Series,'  with  a  work 
dealing  with  the  successive  stages  at  which  the  various  mental  phenomena  appear 
in  the  scale  of  life.  The  present  installment  displays  the  same  evidence  of  indus- 
try in  collecting  facts  and  caution  in  co-ordinating  them  by  theory  as  the  former." 
—  The  Athen&um. 

"•  The  author  confines  himself  to  the  psychology  of  the  subject.  Not  only  are 
his  own  views  Darwinian,  hut  he  has  incorporated  in  his  work  considerable  cita- 
tions from  Darwin's  unpublished  manuscripts,  and  he  has  appended  a  posthu- 
mous essay  on  Instinct  by  Mr.  Darwin."— Boston  Journal. 

"  A  curious  but  richly  suggestive  volume."— New  York  Herald. 

PRACTICAL  ESSAYS.  By  ALEXANDER  BAIN,  LL.  D.,  author  of 
"  Mind  and  Body,"  "  Education  as  a  Science,"  etc.  1 2mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  present  volume  is  in  part  a  reprint  of  articles  contributed  to  reviews. 
The  principal  bond  of  union  among  them  is  their  practical  character.  .  .  .  That 
there  is  a  certain  amount  of  novelty  in  the  various  suggestions  here  embodied,  will 
be  admitted  on  the  most  cursory  perusal."—  From  the  Preface. 

THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ANATOMY,  PHYSIOLOGY,  AND 
HYGIENE.  By  ROGER  S.  TRACY,  M.  D.,  Health  Inspector  of  the 
New  York  Board  of  Health ;  author  of  "  Hand-Book  of  Sanitary  In- 
formation for  Householders,"  etc.  (Forming  a  volume  of  Appletons' 
Science  Text-Books.)  12mo,  cloth,  $1.25.  , 

"Dr.  Tracy  states  in  his  preface  that  his  aim  has  been  'to  compress  within 
the  narrowest  space  such  a  clear  and  Intelligible  account  of  the  structures,  activi- 
ties, and  care  of  the  human  system  as  is  essential  for  the  purposes  of  general 
education.'  And  he  has  so  far  succeeded  as  to  make  his  manual  one  of  the  most 
popularly  interesting  and  useful  text-books  of  its  kind.  .  .  .  The  book  is  excel- 
lently arranged,  the  illustrations  are  admirable." — "Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE   GEOLOGICAL   HISTORY   OF   PLANTS.     By   Sir  J. 

WILLIAM  DAWSON,  F.  R.  S.     Vol.  61  of  The  International  Scientific 
Series.     With  Illustrations.     12mo.     Cloth,  $1.75. 

"The  object  of  this  work  is  to  give,  in  a  connected  form,  a  summary  of  the 
development  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  in  geological  time.  To  the  geologist  and 
botanist  the  subject  is  one  of  importance  with  reference  to  their  special  pursuits, 
and  one  on  which  it  has  not  been  easy  to  find  any  convenient  manual  of  informa- 
tion."— From  the  Preface, 

THE  GEOGRAPHICAL  AND  GEOLOGICAL  DISTRIBU- 
TION OF  ANIMALS.  By  ANGELO  HEILPRIN,  Professor  of  In- 
vertebrate Paleontology  at  the  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences,  Phila- 
delphia, etc.  Vol.  5*7  of  The  International  Scientific  Series.  One 
vol.,  12mo,  435  pages,  $2.00. 

"  In  the  preparation  of  the  following  pages  the  author  has  had  two  objects  in 
view :  that  of  presenting  to  his  readers  such  of  the  more  significant  facts  con- 
nected with  the  past  and  present  distribution  of  animal  life  as  might  lead  to  a 
proper  conception  of  the  relations  of  existing  faunas  ;  and,  secondly,  that  of 
furnishing  to  the  student  a  work  of  general  reference,  wherein  the  more  salient 
features  of  the  geography  and  geology  of  animal  forms  could  be  sought  after 
and  readily  found."— From  the  Preface. 

ANIMAL  MAGNETISM.  From  the  French  of  ALFRED  BINET  and 
CHARLES  FERE.  Vol.  59  of  The  International  Scientific  Series.  12mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  authors,  after  giving  a  brief,  clear,  and  instructive  history  of  animal 
magnetism  from  its  remotest  known  origin  down  through  Mesmer  and  the  Aca- 
demic period  to  the  present  day,  record  their  personal  investigations  among  the 
hysterical,  nervous,  and  generally  superseneitive  female  patients  in  the  great 
Paris  hospital,  La  Salpetriere,  of  which  M.  Fere  is  the  assistant  physician."— 
Journal  of  Commerce. 

WEATHER-:   A  POPULAR  EXPOSITION  OF  THE  NATURE  OF 

WEATHER  CHANGES  FROM  DAY  TO  DAY.    By  the  Hon.  RALPH 

ABERCROMBY,  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Meteorological  Society,  London. 

Vol.  58  of  The  International  Scientific  Series.     12mo.     Cloth,  $1.75. 

"  Mr.  Abercromby  has  for  some  years  made  the  weather  of  Great  Britain  a 


unnecessary  theorizing,  rational  description,  classification,  and  explanation  of 
atmospheric  phenomena,  and  rich  store  of  illustration  from  the  weather-maps  of 
many  parts  of  the  world."—  The  Nation. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS, 


COMPARATIVE  LITERATURE.  By  HUTCHESON  MACATTLAY 
POSNETT,  M.  D.,  LL.  D.,  Professor  of  Classics  and  English  Literature, 
University  College,  Auckland,  New  Zealand,  author  of  "  The  Histori- 
cal Method,"  etc.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

"  Scarcely  a  volume  in  '  The  International  Scientific  Series '  appeals  to  a 
wider  constituency  than  this,  for  it  should  interest,  men  of  science  by  its  attempt 
to  apply  the  scientific  method  to  the  study  of  comparative  literature,  and  men 
of  letters  by  its  analysis  and  grouping  of  imaginative  works  of  various  epochs 
and  nations.  The  author's  theory  is  that  the  key  to  the  study  of  comparative 
literature  is  the  gradual  expansion  of  social  life  from  clan  to  city,  from  city  to 
nation,  and  from  both  of  these  to  cosmopolitan  humanity.  His  survey  extends 
from  the  rudest  beginnings  of  song  to  the  poetry  of  the  present  day,  and  at  each 
stage  of  his  study  he  links  the  literary  expression  of  a  people  with  their  social 
development  and  conditions.  Such  a  study  could  not  easily  fail  of  interesting 
and  curious  results."— Boston  Journal 

MAMMALIA  IN  THEIR  RELATION  TO  PRIMEVAL 
TIMES.  By  Professor  OSCAR  SCHMIDT,  author  of  "The  Doctrine 
of  Descent  and  Darwinism."  With  ol  Woodcuts.  12mo.  Cloth, 

$1.50. 

"Professor  Schmidt  was  one  of  the  best  authorities  on  the  subject  which  he 
has  here  treated  with  the  knowledge  derived  from  the  studies  of  a  lifetime.  We 
use  the  past  tense  in  speaking  of  him,  because,  since  this  book  was  printed,  its 
accomplished  author  has  died  in  the  fullness  of  his  powers.  Although  he  pre- 
pared it  nominally  for  the  use  of  advanced  students,  there  are  few  if  any  pages 
in  his  book  which  can  not  be  readily  understood  by  the  ordinary  reader.  As 
the  title  implies,  Professor  Schmidt  has  traced  the  links  of  connection  between 
existing  mammalia  and  those  types  of  which  are  known  to  us  only  through  the 
disclosures  of  geology."— New  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"  The  history  of  the  development  of  animals  and  the  history  of  the  earth  and 
geography  are  made  to  confirm  one  another.  The  book  is  illustrated  with  wood- 
cut;1, which  will  prove  both  interesting  and  instructive.  It  tells  of  living  mam- 
malia, piijs,  hippopotami,  camels,  deer,  antelopes,  oxen,  rhinoceroses,  horses, 
elephants,  sea-cows,  whales,  dogs,  seals,  insect-eaters,  rodents,  bats,  semi-apes, 
apes  and  their  ancestors,  and  the  man  of  the  future.11— Syracuse  (N.  Y.)  Herald. 

ANTHROPOID  APES.  By  ROBERT  HARTMANN,  Professor  in  the 
University  of  Berlin.  With  63  Illustrations.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

"The  anthropoid,  or  manlike  or  tailless,  apes  include  the  gorilla  and  chimpanzee 
of  tropical  Africa,  tho  orang  of  Borneo  and  Sumatra,  and  the  gibbons  of  the  East 
Indies,  India,  and  some  other  parts  of  Asia.  The  author  of  the  present  work  has 
given  much  attention  to  the  group.  Like  m  ost  living  zoologists  he  is  an  evolutionist, 
and  holds  that  man  can  not  have  descended  from  any  of  the  fossil  species  which  have 
hitherto  come  under  our  notice,  nor  yet  from  any  of  the  species  now  extant;  it  is 
more  probable  that  both  types  have  been  produced  from  a  common  ground-form 
which  has  become  extinct1' — The  Nation. 

"It  will  be  found,  by  those  who  follow  the  author's  exegesis  with  the  heed  and 
candor  it  deserves,  that  the  simian  ancestry  of  man  does  not  as  y«t  rest  upon  such 
solid  and  perfected  proofs  as  to  warrant  the  assumption  of  absolute  certainty  in  which 
materialists  indulge."— New  York  Sun. 

"The  work  is  necessarily  less  complete  than  Huxley's  monograph  on  'The  Cray- 
fish,' or  Mivart's  on  'The  Cat,'  but.  it  is  a  worthy  companion  of  those  brilliant  works? 
and  in  saying  this  we  bestow  praise  equally  high  and  deserved."— Boston  Gazette. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETOX  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


DISCUSSIONS    ON    CLIMATE    AND    COSMOLOGY.      By 

JAMES  CROLL,  LL.  D.,  F.  R.  S.     With  Chart.     12mo.     Cloth,  $2.00. 

CONTENTS:  Misapprehensions  regarding  the  Physical  Theory  of  Secular 
Changes  of  Climate. — Tlie  Ice  of  Greenland  and  the  Antarctic  Continent  not  due 
to  Elevation  of  the  Land.— Mr.  Alfred  JR.  Wallace's  Modification  of  the  Physical 
Theory  of  Secular  Changes  of  Climate  —The  Physical  Cause  of  Mild  Polar  Cli- 
mates.— Intenjlacial  Periods  and  Distribution  of  Flora  and  Fauna  in  Arctic 
Regions.— Temperature  of  Space  and  its  Bearing  on  Terrestrial  Physics.— Prob- 
able Origin  and  Age  of  the  Sun's  Heat,  etc.,  etc. 

CLIMATE  AND  TIME  IN  THEIR  GEOLOGICAL  RE- 
LATIONS:  A  THEORY  OF  SECULAR  CHANGES  OF  THE 
EARTH'S  CLIMATE.  By  JAMES  CROLL,  of  H.  M.  Geological  Survey 
of  Scotland.  With  Maps  and  Illustrations.  12mo.  Cloth,  $2.50. 

"I  have  studiously  avoided  introducing  anything  of  a  hypothetical  character. 
All  the  conclusions  are  based  on  known  facts  or  admitted  physical  principles. 
In  short,  the  aim  of  the  work  is  to  prove  that  secular  changes  of  climate  follow, 
aa  a  necessary  effect,  from  admitted  physical  agencies,  and  that  these  changes, 
in  as  far  as  the  past  climatic  condition  of  the  globe  is  concerned,  fully  meet  the 
demand  of  the  geologist." — From  the  Preface. 

OTHER  WORLDS  THAN  OURS:  THE  PLURALITY  OF 
WORLDS,  STUDIED  UNDER  THE  LIGHT  OF  RECENT  SCI- 
ENTIFIC RESEARCHES.  By  RICHARD  ANTHONY  PROCTOR.  With 
Illustrations,  some  colored.  12mo.  Cloth,  $2.50. 

LIGHT  SCIENCE  FOR  LEISURE  HOURS.  A  Series  of 
Familiar  Essays  on  Scientific  Subjects,  Natural  Phenomena,  etc.  By 
RICHARD  ANTHONY  PROCTOR.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

THE  MOON:  HER  MOTIONS,  ASPECT,  SCENERY,  AND  PHYS- 
ICAL CONDITIONS.  With  Three  Lunar  Photographs,  and  many 
Plates,  Charts,  etc.  By  RICHARD  ANTHONY  PROCTOR.  8vo.  Cloth, 
$3.50. 

THE    EXPANSE    OF    HEAVEN.      A  Series  of  Essays  on  the 

Wonders  of   the    Firmament.      By   RICHARD   ANTHONY    PROCTOR. 
12mo.     Cloth,  $2.00. 

OUR  PLACE  AMONG  INFINITIES.  A  Series  of  Essays  con- 
trasting  our  Little  Abode  in  Space  and  Time  with  the  Infinities 
around  us.  To  which  are  added  Essays  on  the  Jewish  Sabbath  and 
Astrology.  By  RICHARD  ANTHONY  PROCTOR.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 


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A.NTS,  BEES,  AND  WASPS.  A  Record  of  Observations  on  tha 
Habits  of  the  Social  Hymenoptera.  By  Sir  JOHN  LCBBOCK,  Bart., 
M.  P.,  F.  R.  S.,  etc.,  author  of  "  Origin  of  Civilization,  and  the  Primi- 
tive Condition  of  Man,"  etc.,  etc.  With  Colored  Plates.  12rao. 
Cloth,  $2.00. 

"This  volume  contains  the  record  of  various  experiments  made  with  ants,  bees,  and 
wasps  during  the  last  ten  years,  with  a  view  to  test  their  mental  condition  and  powers 
of  sense.  The  principal  point  in  which  Sir  John's  mode  of  experiment  differs  torn 
those  of  Huber,  Forel,  McCook,  and  others,  is  that  he  fans  carefully  watched  and 
marked  particular  insects,  and  has  had  their  nests  under  observation  for  long  periods 
— one  of  his  ants'  nests  having  been  under  constant  inspection  ever  since  1874.  His 
observations  are  made  principally  upon  ants,  because. they  show  more  power  and  flexi- 
bility of  mind;  and  the  value  of  his  studies  is  that  they  belong  to  the  department  of 
original  research." 

"  We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  author  has  presented  us  with  the  most 
valuable  series  of  observations  on  a  special  subject  that  has  ever  bren  produced,  charm- 
ingly written,  full  of  logical  deductions,  and,  when  we  consider  his  multitudinous  en- 
gagements, a  remarkable  illustration  of  economy  of  time.  As  a  contribution  to  insect 
psychology,  it  will  be  long  before  this  book  finds  a  parallel." — London  Atfienceum. 

DISEASES  OF  MEMORY.  An  Essay  in  the  Positive  Psychology. 
By  TH.  RIBOT,  author  of  "Heredity,"  etc.  Translated  from  the 
French  by  William  Huntington  Smith.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

*'  M.  Ribot  reduces  diseases  of  memory  to  law,  and  his  treatise  is  of  extraordinary 
interest."" — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Not  merely  to  scientiflc,  but  to  all  thinking  men,  this  volume  will  prove  intensely 
interesting;11— New  York  Observer. 

"M.  Ribot  has  bestowed  the  most  painstaking  attention  upon  his  theme,  acd  nu- 
merous examples  of  the  conditions  considered  greatly  increase  the  value  and  interest 
of  the  volume.'1— Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  To  the  general  reader  the  work  is  made  entertaining  by  many  illustrations  con- 
nected with  such  names  as  Linnaeus,  Newton.  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Horace  Vernet,  Gus- 
tave  Dore,  and  many  others." — Harrisburg  Telegraph. 

"The  whole  subject  is  presented  with  a  Frenchman's  vivacity  of  style." — Provi- 
dence Journal. 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  in  no  single  work  have  so  many  curious  cases  been 
brought  together  and  interpreted  in  a  scientific  manner." — Boston  Evening  Traveller. 

MYTH  AND  SCIENCE.     By  TITO  VIGNOLI.     12mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"His  book  is  ingenious;  ...  his  theory  of  how  science  gradually  differentiated 
from  and  conquered  myth  is  extremely  well  wrought  out,  and  is  probably  in  essentials 
correct." — Saturday  tieview. 

"The  book  is  a  strong  one,  and  ftr  more  interesting  to  the  general  reader  than  its 
title  would  indicate.  The  learning,  the  acuteness,  the  strong  reasoning  power,  and  the 
scientific  spirit  of  the  author,  command  admiration."— New  York  Christian  Advocate. 

"An  attempt  made,  with  much  ability  and  no  small  measure  of  success,  to  trace  the 
origin  and  development  of  the  myth,  the  author  has  pursued  his  inquiry  with  much 
patience  and  ingenuity,  and  has  produced  a  very  readable  and  luminous  treatise." — 
Philadelphia  North  American. 

"It  is  a  curious  if  not  startling  contribution  both  to  psychology  and  to  the  early 
history  of  man's  development." — New  York  World. 


New  York:   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  00/8  PUBLICATIONS, 

MAN  BEFORE  METALS.  By  N.  JOLT,  Professor  at  the  Science 
Faculty  of  Toulouse;  Correspondent  of  the  Institute.  With  148  II. 
lustrations.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

"  The  discussion  of  man's  origin  and  early  history,  by  Professor  De  Onatre- 
fages,  formed  one  of  the  most  useful  volumes  in  the  '  International  Scientific 
Series,'  and  the  same  collection  is  now  further  enriched  by  a  popular  treatise  on 
paleontology,  by  M.  N.  Joly,  Professor  in  the  University  of  Toulouse.  The  title 
of  the  book,  '  Man  before  Metals,'  indicates  the  limitations  of  the  writer's  theme. 
His  object  is  to  bring  together  the  numerous  proofs,  collected  by  modern  research, 
of  the  great  age  of  the  human  race,  and  to  show  us  what  man  was,  in  respect  of 
customs,  industries,  and  moral  or  religious  ideas,  before  the  use  of  metals  wa» 
known  to  him."— New  York  Sun. 

"An  interesting,  not  to  say  fascinating  volume."— New  York  Churchman. 

ANIMAL  INTELLIGENCE.  By  GEORGE  J.  ROMANES,  F.  R.  S., 
Zoological  Secretary  of  the  Linnaean  Society,  etc.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

"  My  object  in  the  work  as  a  whole  Is  twofold  :  Fir^t,  I  have  thought  it  de- 
sirable that  there  should  be  something  resembling  a  text-book  of  the  facts  of  Com- 
parative Psychology,  to  which  men  ot  science,  and  also  metaphysicians,  may  turn 
whenever  they  have  occasion  to  acquaint  themselves  with  the  particular  level  ot 
intelligence  to  which  this  or  that  species  of  animal  attains.  My  second  and  much 
more  important  object  is  that  of  considering  the  facts  of  animal  intelligence  in 
their  relation  to  the  theory  of  descent."— -from  the  Preface. 

"Unless  we  are  greatly  mistaken,  Mr.  Romanes's  work  will  take  its  place  as 
one  of  the  most  attractive  volumes  of  the  *  International  Scientific  Series.  Some 
persons  may,  indeed,  be  disposed  to  say  that  it  if  too  attractive,  that  it  feeds  the 
popular  taste  for  the  curious  and  marvelous  without  supplying  any  commensurate 
discipline  in  exact  scientific  reflection ;  but  the  author  has,  we  think,  fully  justi- 
fied himself  in  hie  modest  preface.  The  result  is  the  appearance  of  a  collection 
of  facts  which  will  be  a  real  boon  to  the  student  of  Comparative  Psychology,  for 
this  is  the  first  attempt  to  present  systematically  well-assured  observations  on  the 
mental  life  of  animals."— Saturday  Review. 

"  The  author  believes  himself,  not  without  ample  cause,  to  have  completely 
bridged  the  supposed  gap  between  instinct  and  reason  by  the  authentic  proofs 
here  marshaled  of  remarkable  intelligence  in  some  of  the  higher  animals.  It  ia 
the  seemingly  conclusive  evidence  of  reasoning  powers  furnished  by  the  adapta- 
tion of  means  to  ends  in  cases  which  can  not  be  explained  on  the  theory  of  in- 
herited aptitude  or  habit."— New  York  Sun. 

THE  SCIENCE  OF  POLITICS.  By  SHELDON  AMOS,  M.  A.,  author 
of  "The  Science  of  Law,"  etc.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.75 

"  To  the  political  student  and  the  practical  statesman  it  ought  to  be  of  great 
value."— New  York  Herald. 

"  The  author  traces  the  subject  from  Plato  and  Aristotle  in  Greece,  and  Cicero 
in  Rome,  to  the  modern  schools  in  the  English  field,  not  slighting  the  teachings 
of  the  American  Revolution  or  the  lessons  of  the  French  Revolution  of  1793, 
Forms  of  government,  political  terms,  the  relation  of  law,  written  and  unwritten, 
to  the  subject,  a  codification  from  Justinian  to  Napoleon  in  France  and  F"ield  in 
America,  are  treated  as  parts  of  the  subject  in  hand.  Necessarily  the  subjects  of 
executive  and  legislative  authority,  police,  liquor,  and  land  laws  are  considered^ 
and  the  question  ever  growing  in  importance  in  all  countries,  the  relations  or  cor 
poratious  to  the  state." — New  York  Observer. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO..  I,  3.  &  5  Bond  Street. 


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OCT  26  1932 


LD  2 1-50^-8, •  1)2 


